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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012301">Tell the Dead to Fear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamlover1102/pseuds/Dreamlover1102'>Dreamlover1102</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dirthara Ma Athim [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Not A Fix-It, Slow Build, Slow Burn, not edited</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:07:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>56,413</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamlover1102/pseuds/Dreamlover1102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“There are troubling rumors of slaves disappearing in Falon’din’s court, enough that it is spreading outside of just his own. I already detest the idea of slaves but to sacrifice them for rituals I know not what for is much worse. I fear it’s spread and I fear where it may lead. If there is a secret to be found, who better than to sniff it out but a wolf? I must know and I suspect far worse things are being kept secret. A court of whispers is a good place to start, is it not?” She moves closer, light spilling over her sharp features and glinting off her horned crown. The shape of it frames her face and he can’t look away from the dread that seeps into the soft lines of her eyes. </p><p>Something wicked is happening in the court of bones. Solas, Mythal’s Champion, is tasked to exchange 1 year and 1 day of his service after “losing” a fight with Dirthamen’s Champion- Lavellan. In truth, he is there to investigate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dirthara Ma Athim [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: This is tagged appropriately for this first act but I will be adding tags as the series goes. This story is split into three acts and each one will contain its own story while also leading into the next. I stuck to canon as much as I could but this is technically an AU and canon divergent as I’ve had to rework things to accommodate the plot and Lavellan being added to this story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>He has not been to Arlathan in some time. Most of his duties for Mythal keep him in her lands and her temples but Mythal has business in the city today. A meeting with Evanuris. He walks at her side as her retinue travels through the crossroads, his eyes shifting over the landscape. Spirits float over to greet them and observe their party as they make their way through winding paths. Leaves pink and gold drift overhead, swept up by the wind that breezes gently through the air. His hair is pulled back away from his face, and the beads twisted in his braids click together. The sound echoes and carries. </p><p> </p><p>Mythal’s party is dressed in red today, himself included, though his outfit more closely resembles her sentinels at the temples. A color Mythal had seemed to favor this year but he knew that she did so to appeal to her husband, Elgar’nan. He knew the two had been arguing as of late. Of what, he was not privy to. This one seemed private.</p><p> </p><p>Mythal glances at him as they come near the Eluvian that would lead them into the city. She nods to him and he steps through first. It is his job to see if there is danger ahead. He moves through the Eluvian and steps into the hall of Mythal’s palace in Arlathan, hands out and ready but there is nothing but servants milling about. Some pause in their work, surprised to see Mythal’s most loyal champion arrive and he grins at familiar faces. </p><p> </p><p>“Better get back to work,” he calls out, glancing behind him to indicate the mirror. “She’ll be arriving in a moment.” He’s jesting, of course, and a few chuckle before continuing their chores. Mythal is fearsome in her justice but is often kind and treats her people well. Their loyalty is not misplaced. </p><p> </p><p>He observes the hall, eyes sweeping over the golden columns and crystal work that twine and twist up through the pillars and stretch out like tree branches overhead. Windows from floor to ceiling that peek in arches depict Mythal’s many triumphs in painted glass line the walls, and he moves forward to search for any hidden danger he knows he will not find. The floor is covered in mosaic tiles, gold and green, that lead out into the open courtyard just beyond. </p><p> </p><p>A few moments pass before he returns to the mirror. He steps through again and almost bumps into Mythal. She chuckles and steps back to make room for him. Her hair is braided around her crown today, a red floor length dress and gold armor pieces adorn her figure. Her golden gaze narrows when he doesn’t speak and he grins. </p><p> </p><p>“A hall full of assassins, I’m afraid.” He laughs when she cocks a brow at him before stepping around him and toward the mirror.</p><p> </p><p>“A pity. I rather liked that hall. I’d hate to have to destroy it,” she says. He walks up beside her as a few of her party close enough to hear chuckle at her response. </p><p> </p><p>“Elgar’nan will simply have to make you a new one,” he replies. She scoffs. </p><p> </p><p>“If I left him to design my halls, he’d have them painted in red and dripping blood from his latest scrabble with the Forgotten clans. Or some unseen slight Falon’din has given him. No. Sylaise and June are far better at design.” </p><p> </p><p>“True enough.” </p><p> </p><p>They both step through together this time and as he suspected, the hall is lined with servants ready to greet their returning Goddess. Bows and polite greetings are exchanged as the party fills up the hall. Mythal trails toward the courtyard and he follows close behind, hands behind his back as they walk at a leisurely pace. The servants and party begin to split up, some toward their own rooms and others to the kitchen to procure refreshments. Night is already falling over the city that floats just below them. </p><p> </p><p>When they are alone among plants as tall as trees filled with flowers that fragrance the air and wisps that light the pathways through the hedges, Mythal stops and turns to him. </p><p> </p><p>“I heard a secret from one of my wisest friends,” she says. Her hand stretches out to pick a flower nearby. </p><p> </p><p>“What is this secret?” He asks. He spots a bench nearby and nods his head toward it before walking over to sit down. She declines to sit and instead sighs and crosses her arms. It is an uncharacteristic display and a frown tugs at him. </p><p>“It must be serious. You have been restless of late. What is it?” </p><p> </p><p>Her eyes grow cold and the gold in her gaze glints in the light from the wisps nearby.</p><p> </p><p>“There are troubling rumors coming out of a court filled with bones. Whatever it is, I must know if they are true. When we convene tomorrow at Elgar’nan’s hall for the meeting, I must ask you for a favor.” She turns to look at him, her eyes conveying that he won’t like whatever the favor is. </p><p> </p><p>“What is this favor?” Unease eats away at his stomach at her silence and he stands. This must truly be bad if it has shaken Mythal. He moves closer and lays a hand on her shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>“Whatever it is, like it or not, I will do as you ask. Now what is it?” He gives her shoulder a squeeze before letting his arm drop back down. Mythal uncrosses her arm and plucks the flower in front of her. She brings it to her nose to smell and her eyes close. </p><p> </p><p>“Dirthamen has a new champion after her predecessor was killed. Have you heard of her?” She opens her eyes to look at him. </p><p> </p><p>Confused by the shift in topic, Pride clasps his hands behind his back and raises his brow. The moment of seriousness seems to pass and Mythal drifts further down the path and takes a seat at the bench he had just vacated. He lets his mind wander over names and faces, searching for information he knows he probably stored somewhere. He settles on the conversation he had with Wisdom a few years ago. The spirit had told him of a conclave of sorts where a woman of surprising strength in both magic and combat had bested all those who sought to be Dirthamen’s champion’s replacement. Wisdom had said she was impressive in both skill and cleverness. As cunning as a cat. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What was her name...Lav...Lavellan, perhaps?  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Wisdom has said she is quite formidable. She’d give a wolf a run for his money.” He grinned at the thought. His blood rushing at the scent of a worthy opponent. Wisdom had said she’d match him in mind and body should he pick up a challenge. Mythal’s chuckle distracts him from his thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>“Lavellan, yes. I have heard the same,” Mythal replies. She levels him with a look and he crosses his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“What of her?” He is curious where Mythal is going with this and how it fits with the conversation about troubling rumors. The only connection he can see is that Dirthamen and Falon’din have shared courts, much closer than most of the other Evanuris with the exception of Andruil and Ghilan’nain after the latter’s ascension. </p><p> </p><p>“At the meeting tomorrow, I wish to see if a cat can best a wolf,” Mythal states, dropping the flower she’d been fiddling with. It hits the bricked tile and the moss seems to devour it in minutes. The wisps nearby drift down to watch before flitting away. The pathway darkens from their absence and Pride manipulates the magic to create a light that hovers between them. The soft glow paints Mythal in shadows and he frowns. </p><p> </p><p>“No cat can beat a wolf,” he says but the thought sends his blood racing at the prospect. He wonders what she looks like. How she moves. Does she have a beast inside her skin like him. His wolf howls inside his skull in interest. </p><p> </p><p>“This one must. The favor I ask is that you lose, Pride.” His humor immediately dies and he flicks his gaze her way. The amusement is replaced with fury but her gaze is cold again and she stands with hands raised as if to placate him. </p><p> </p><p>Magic ripples out and spreads between them, encasing them in what he can only assume is a barrier. His eyes widen in shock at Mythal’s look of fear. He has never seen it before and he immediately swallows his coming outburst. The barrier is not for protection but to muffle their voices. Mythal must suspect listening ears. </p><p> </p><p>“There are troubling rumors of slaves disappearing in Falon’din’s court, enough that it is spreading outside of just his own. I already detest the idea of slaves but to sacrifice them for rituals I know not what for is much worse. I fear it’s spread and I fear where it may lead. If there is a secret to be found, who better than to sniff it out but a wolf? I must know and I suspect far worse things are being kept secret. A court of whispers is a good place to start, is it not?” She moves closer, light spilling over her sharp features and glinting off her horned crown. The shape of it frames her face and he can’t look away from the dread that seeps into the soft lines of her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Mythal is shaken by whatever Wisdom has shared with her. Something even he had not known of. He wonders if this has anything to do with the arguing between her and Elgar’nan. Slaves had always been a source of conflict between Mythal and the other Evanuris. It is why he was asked to become flesh and bone instead of the spirit of Pride he had once been. Mythal needed an ally and she had always trusted him the most. </p><p> </p><p>“What would you have me do?” He asks. He has already resigned himself to her favor.</p><p> </p><p>“Pick a fight with Dirthamen’s champion. Then lose it. I will have to reprimand you. A year and a day of service in Dirthamen’s court. Something Dirthamen has shown interest in before. Find me my answers, Pride. Sniff out the truth of them and bring them to me. I fear we have little time but save those who can be saved.” Her tone is severe and he can only nod and then bow. </p><p> </p><p>“It will be done, then. Who is protecting you while I am away? I suspect you’ve already planned a replacement?” The thought of leaving her side makes him nervous, especially with the topic of conversation. For all her court is one of dreams and hope, she trusts very few. </p><p> </p><p>“Felassan and Suledin have both shown great promise. Perhaps we can consider this a test run for future sentinel placement?” She suggests. It is the same two he would have chosen himself and he nods in agreement. </p><p> </p><p>“Good,” she says, and she walks forward toward the path leading to her rooms. “Then it is settled.” She passes him and he follows behind her. Magic ripples out again and the barrier falls. The garden courtyard is illuminated by wisps and tree lights and he lets go of the magic he used to light the spot they’ve just left. As they make their way toward the wing that hosts their rooms, Pride frowns in pensive thought.</p><p> </p><p>He was to infiltrate a court of whispers to find secrets of slaves going missing, possibly sacrificed for some ritual. He was tasked with saving those he could without giving away his duty to spy and in order to orchestrate this plan, he had to lose a fight to another Evanuris’ champion he did not know much about outside of her being as clever as him and a great fighter. This did not bode well but he trusted Mythal’s judgement and so he would do this for her. For the People. </p><p> </p><p>When they arrive at her room, he turns to leave but she calls out his name and he stops. He glances over his shoulder at her and a look of amusement makes her eyes crinkle at the edges. The fear is not nearly as prominent now in the darkened hallways of her floating palace. </p><p> </p><p>“Make it a good fight, Wolf. If I must endure your absence, leave me with a good memory for your return.” </p><p> </p><p>A flash of teeth against the dark and then he’s gone. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He is dressed in light armor, less ceremonial and more for freer movements and quicker reflexes. His blood is singing, the wolf inside him brushing its fur against his bones, wanting to be free of its confines. Mythal tuts beside him as if she senses his anticipation as they make their way down Elgar’nan’s pavilion and toward the large meeting hall that was used for the Evanuris. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their circle is much smaller today, made up of himself, Felassan, Suledin, and Mythal. A few spirits nearby drift closer as they walk and he lets out a deep breath when he spots Rage and Fury trailing behind them. Not the spirits he meant to attract, though they are common place in Elgar’nan’s court of vengeance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suledin is silent beside him, gold eyes narrowed and a pull of a frown against his green vallaslin makes him look like he was walking to his death. His eyes always convey a sadness, something Pride had thought odd considering the court they hailed from. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Felassan was quite the opposite. He chatted with Mythal, pointing out spirits and cracking jokes that Mythal struggles to keep from laughing at. She is doing poorly, however, amusement dances in her eyes but he could see the tightness at the corners and her back is straighter than normal. Her hair is long and flowing, free of braids and pins though she still wears her customary horned crown with golden leaves like that of the vallaslin she bestows on those of her court who serve her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her dress is a soft orange that bleeds into red toward the bottom and styled to look like flames when she walks. A few choice armor pieces protect her chest and a belt slung across her waist holds a ceremonial dagger she often did not use. That was what he was for. Felassan has his staff and Suledin has a sword strap at his side but Pride is hoping that no fight save his own would break out today. It is always a gamble though. The Evanuris seem to have some petty squabbles against each other and the Forgotten ones are a recurring issue. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knows the dress is for Elgar’nan and he once again wonders what exactly is Mythal up to. What was she gaining or distracting Elgar’nan from? Somehow he does not think it is related to whatever he is tasked to do or if it is, he does not see the connection. Whatever the reason, she is much more subdued this morning than she has been. He worries there is something else she is not telling him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elgar’nan’s courtyard is a maze of twisting vines and crystal spikes that jut out in odd directions as if he had pounded them in himself in a fit of rage rather than by design. The vines move on their own and writhe on the ground like snakes, tendrils dripping down from the arch ways as they pass. Some try to reach for them as they move along and Felassan has to wrestle his staff back after one snags around the top of it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He moves closer to their group, his curiosity now forgotten and his humor dimmed. “How quaint,” Felassan mutters and Mythal chuckles. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pride notes the lack of slaves they’ve come across since they’ve arrived and now he wonders if this is Elgar’nan’s doing. Is their lack of presence an attempt to appease Mythal? His eyes drift back to Mythal’s dress and he chews the inside of his lips in thought. If both of them are attempting to placate each other, then both of them hold something over the other. But what is it? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can do something rash like ask, the hallway ends and their group turns left to enter the grand hall. The room is cavernous, filled with pillars made entirely of glass and archways as long and large as the walls. Like Mythal’s, the windows depict some of Elgar’nan’s triumphs, his more bloody than hers. The first slaves he has seen since arriving are part of Andruil’s party just ahead dishing out refreshments. They are not but bone and skin and anger erupts in his chest at the sight of them. Now he remembers why he hates visiting the city and why he often does not go unless Mythal is in attendance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As if summoned by his wild fury, or perhaps at the fade magic that wraps around his hands, Mythal places a hand on his arm to calm him. She turns to look at him, her eyes cold like they had been in the garden and it is enough to calm him. To remind him what he must do. Picking a fight with Andruil was not part of the plan, loathe as he is to accept it. He swallows down the snarl that plucks at his throat, his tongue dry and the magic fades back into the air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His display, unfortunately, is enough to draw Andruil’s attention and she flashes her teeth at him as if she is happy to see him. Perhaps she is, considering the last time an offer for him to stay at her court had really been an offer to warm her bed. He suppresses the shudder at the thought. He spots Falon’din’s black hair and bone mask he often wears further up mingling with Ghilan’nain’s party. Elgar’nan is sitting on his throne watching them. He does not see Dirthamen, nor his champion and June and Sylaise are missing as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Andruil’s hair is blood red like her father’s and almost as wild as his. She has it pulled up in an elaborate braid, likely Ghilan’nain’s doing as the woman in question sports the same style but her hair is white like snow and her skin is much darker than Andruil’s tan. Pride thinks the style looks better on Ghilan’nain but he thinks everything looks better on someone else as opposed to Andruil. Who he hates. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs when Mythal removes her hand to move forward to greet her daughter. Andruil’s eyes are not the only trait she inherited from her mother, she also shares the same sharp cheekbones, long arms and pointed chin. Their noses differ, Mythal’s is pointed up at the tip where Andruil’s is crooked despite the best healers tending her and Andruil sports a scar she elected to keep from a tussle with a bear she had gotten when she was younger. It slashes across her collar bone, peeking out over her silver and red breast plate, curving toward her shoulder which is not shown at the moment. He’s seen it though, in a memory he does not care to revisit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His attention is pulled away from the two when the door behind them swings open and June and Sylaise walk in. The latter is dressed in a white robe that wraps around her body like a sheet and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a comment she would not appreciate. Her blonde hair she gained from her mother, is swept up in an elaborate bun. June is following just slightly behind, his armor almost as impeccable as Elgar’nan’s and covered in ruins and enchantments that make the air ripple around them. His head is bare of hair save for his eyebrows which are thick and bushy. Their party is made up of their own champions and attendants. He does not care for Sylaise or June but he does note their slaves look to be in good health, far better than Falon’din’s or Andruil’s. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s an hour of greetings and long winded speeches, most of which are made from Sylaise who seems to love the sound of her own voice pass. He is surprised by Falon’din’s uncharacteristic lack of vanity. He is dressed in black, an outfit made from silk and feathers but more subdued than his usual garb. He stifles a laugh when Felassan makes a sarcastic remark on Sylaise’s choice in outfit. Suledin has not spoken a single word, his hawk-like gaze sweeping over the surroundings his only movement. Mythal is farther away than Pride likes but she is speaking in low and soothing tones to Elgar’nan who has become increasingly impatient with Dirthamen’s lack of presence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pride is inclined to agree, a first in his long and tedious history with the vengeful Evanuris. Elgar’nan’s red hair seems to spill further from the low ponytail he wears as his arms sweep up toward his hair and jut down in a cutting motion, flames dancing at his fingertips. His booming voice crackles in anger that makes the air heat like stroking fire that burns on a pyre. Mythal sighs, running a hand down his arm and tutting and Elgar’nan seems to calm under her touch. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He catches Ghilan’nain as she leans forward to whisper something to Andruil, her white colored eyes eerily look his way before moving on and he shifts uncomfortably against the pillar he’s leaning against. The hall is filled with voices, snippets of conversation fill the air as Andruil and Falon’din’s slaves make their way around the group to offer wine and food. He declines when they ask, he can never eat before a fight but his eyes linger on the men and women as they move around the crowd on quiet feet. His fingers curl into fists and he has to pull his gaze away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where is Dirthamen and his great champion? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wonders. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How much longer can Mythal soothe Elgar’nan before he deems it necessary to drag him here himself? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The mental image that conjured was enough to make him laugh and Felassan sends him an odd look. “What mischief are you thinking, Pride?” He asks from his own pillar nearby. His violet colored eyes glances around but everyone in the hall is too busy with their own conversations to pay them any attention. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pride grins, crossing his arms and jerks his chin toward Elgar’nan and Mythal. The vengeful Evanuris’ flames have grown from his fingers toward half up his arms. Mythal looks passive but her tone has grown sharper. A barrier of cooling blue magic surrounds her own arm as she tries and fails to cool Elgar’nan’s annoyance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think is so important that Dirthamen has decided to be fashionably late?” He asks Felassan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The other man raises his brows and smirks. “I’m betting a particularly juicy secret,” he answers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The humor dies on his tongue when his eyes meet Mythal’s over the table. Her attention is not on him though but further down the hall and takes only a moment for the door to swing open and Dirthamen to finally grace them with his silent presence. Half his face is covered in the same bone mask as his husband’s but where Falon’din is light skinned with dark hair, Dirthamen is dark skinned like Ghilan’nain with blonde hair so light it is almost white. His outfit is the exact same as Falon’din’s but white instead and Pride has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He catches Felassan having no such resistance and for a moment Pride is envious of Felassan’s lack of tact. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That explains the subdued look of Falon’din. Dress to match and make a statement. I should have known. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen steps further inside and he hears Elgar’nan’s righteous annoyance at the lateness but he does not listen too closely as he leans forward to catch a better glimpse of Dirthamen’s party. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Or lack thereof. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His beast wants to howl at the missed opportunity of meeting his match but it’s only a few seconds later that he sees her enter behind on silent feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His beast howls inside anyway but for a far different reason. One he is surprised to learn about himself. He has had his fair share of women and men over the course of his life since taking a body but he knows she is different the minute he lays his eyes on her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her hair is long and sleek, flowing down her back in waves. Her skin is bronze, tanner than Andruil’s but lighter than Ghilan’nain and Dirthamen’s. Her eyes are as violet purple as Felassan and Falon’din’s and he understands now what Wisdom meant by cunning as a cat. She sways into the room behind Dirthamen with the same swagger he has seen those who train with daggers and moves in the dark do, and he is unsurprised to see two of them strapped to her belt. Her armor is similar to his, built for speed and flexibility but her skirt is slit all the way up the sides and aside from her leg wraps, she wears nothing else. His eyes follow the movement of her hips and legs and it is only the sound of Felassan’s throat clearing that jerks his gaze back to her face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A lovely face only marred with Dirthamen’s vallaslin. A pity. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her lips are full and painted red like blood and her eyes are lined with kohl. She smirks when her eyes sweep over the hall and land on him. For a moment he feels trapped by her gaze before he leans more on the pillar in an attempt to match her easy posture. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So this is Mythal’s dreaded wolf.” She says, and her voice is smoky and pleasing to the ear. He knows he shouldn’t but he grins at her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can respond though, Felassan pulls himself away from where he’s been leaning and steps forward. “He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>dreadful to look at, isn’t he?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pride flicks an annoyed glance his way but Felassan only smirks as if he’s proud of himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Felassan, good to see you. I’ve missed your snark at court.” Her voice drags his attention back to her even as he mentally makes a note to ask Felassan what she means. Was Felassan part of Dirthamen’s court originally? He had known Felassan came from another court and his family were nobles because he had come plain faced and asked to earn his vallaslin from Mythal. This was before Pride had taken a body though he had spoken to Felassan before. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Apologies, I’ll have to find time to visit more. I imagine the halls of Dirthamen’s temples must be boring what with all the silence echoing around,” he replies. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You always were charming,” she quips before looking away from them both toward Dirthamen. Pride follows her line of sight and spots Dirthamen joining Falon’din and Andruil further up the hall. It appears Elgar’nan has finally been pacified by whatever had delayed Dirthamen’s arrival. He searches the mingling crowd and finds Mythal and Suledin standing off to the side. Her golden gaze is watching his and Felassan’s interaction with Lavellan with narrowed eyes and he supposes now would be a good time to move further in. He pushes away from the pillar and uncrosses his arms in a fluid motion and he’s impressed when she only darts her attention back toward him despite being caught by surprise at his movement. Well trained, indeed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A pleasure to meet you, Dreadful Wolf,” she says, and she sends him a closed lip smile that is equally sweet and alluring. He laughs. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dread Wolf is fine, if you want us to be enemies. Pride if you want to be friends.” He says and watches her face as it lights in interest. He can feel Felassan and likely Mythal’s eyes on his back and his hands go behind his back in his customary fashion. No hand is offered and she does not seem inclined to take it had he done so. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We shall see.” Was her answer and with that she turns away from them both to make her way toward her silent Evanuris. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pride tries and fails to not watch her walk away. He is almost beginning to suspect this woman may best him without his throwing the fight on purpose. Unease trickles into him when he feels eyes on him and when he looks up and away from her, he meets the dark gaze of Dirthamen on him. He looks away quickly and gestures to Felassan to move forward. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They both make their way to the rest of their party and Pride can feel Dirthamen’s eyes on him the whole way. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What wicked secrets do you hide underneath that cold exterior, Dirthamen? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They’ve been at it for hours, arguing over trade agreements and the latest conflict between Sylaise and June, </span>
  <em>
    <span>over roof shingles</span>
  </em>
  <span>, of all things when Felassan leans over from his spot at the table to whisper to him, “I think I’d prefer Elgar’nan’s designs at this point. Who spills blood over the color of the roof?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pride grins, leaning over though his eyes never leave the arguing Evanuris, “Elgar’nan would use their bodies to decorate after the squabbling was done. Or he’d simply kill them himself in impatience,” he replies. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Felassan makes a face. “Delightful. I thought the dead were Falon’din’s thing.” His tone is conversational but the underlining disgust is the same as Pride’s. Bitterness seeps into their words and Pride glances away from the Evanuris to Felassan in warning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps.” Is all he says. The two fall back into silence but when he looks away from Felassan, his eyes land on Dirthamen’s champion. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lavellan looks as bored as they do, her eyes following the flow of words to who speaks them but her fingers are tapping against the table and every so often she shifts in her seat. Dirthamen is to her right and when she shifts again, he thinks he catches Dirthamen subtly shifting in the same manner. Pride smothers the urge to laugh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So he’s bored too then. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After what feels like another hour, Falon’din says something that catches his attention. The haughty Evanuris is plucking at a feather as he speaks, as if the topic bores him but Pride can tell he is attempting to stir the conversation to his own problems. “Anaris’ clan is causing trouble at my borders and it appears he’s made an alliance with Geldauran’s clan. Like meddlesome flies at a corpse, the People seem to be flocking to his cause,” Falon’din smirks at his gruesome metaphor before continuing, “I fear another war is on the horizon.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Elgar’nan slams a hand on the table and it startles Suledin, who’s been standing so silently against a pillar nearby that Pride had nearly forgotten he was there. The quiet sentinel in training right hand falls to the sword at his hip before catching himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had </span>
  <b>
    <em>enough</em>
  </b>
  <span> of those traitors! Kill them all and be done with it! If it is war they seek, then it is war they shall find!” His eyes blaze and the table underneath his hand is covered in scorch marks. Mythal sighs beside her husband and for a moment, Elgar’nan looks furious that she appears ready to stop his proclamation but she only lays a hand on his. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps you are right in this, my heart, but I think declaring war is up to Falon’din as it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>lands that are currently being plagued but warring clans,” she says. She raises an eyebrow and Elgar’nan clears his throat before removing his hand from the table to take hers. “True enough,” he replies. “You have my aid should you need it. My soldiers are itching for another taste of battle.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Falon’din smirks. “As are mine. A kind offer but I hope we may not need it. Dirthamen has offered his own soldiers should the borders need more bolstering of forces as his lands are likely to be affected as well. Our courts, after all, are quite mingled. I simply wished to inform you of growing tension between the Forgotten clans and the People. Should this spread further, you may want to post soldiers along your own borders.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d love to get my hands on Anaris,” Andruil says, her lips curled up in a viscous smile, “I almost hope he tries something. I have an arrow waiting for him.” Her golden eyes briefly land on him before looking away. Pride shifts in his seat from the uncomfortable memory. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Geldauran has been making some interesting claims. I am unsurprised he’s decided to ally with Anaris. The weak always ally with the weak,” Ghilan’nain says, taking a sip of her wine before continuing, “I have some beasts left who wish to hunt. I’d let you borrow them for a time, Falon’din, if I might bargain with your husband for the use of his talents?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Falon’din chuckles. “You would not simply loan them from the kindness of your heart?” He asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kindness of my heart?” She asks, before snorting. “Was my offer not kind enough?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose it was but you’ve put Dirthamen in a bit of bind, have you not?” Falon’din asks. He leans back with slow and languid movements to lay an arm across Dirthamen’s shoulders. “If my husband refuses your offer, I am left without beasts and you have given Dirthamen nothing in exchange. That’s hardly fair.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ghilan’nain frowns and Andruil scoffs. “She’d be giving you both safer borders and aid. Is that not plenty?” The huntress asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. “My husband speaks true. Safer our borders may be but I know nothing about these manner of beasts you wish to bargain with. Who is to say they are even useful?” Dirthamen’s voice is cold and quiet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Felassan seems to shrink back in his seat at Dirthamen’s word and Pride notes his reaction with interest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Is Felassan afraid of Dirthamen? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pride bites his tongue to keep from interrupting with his own thoughts. Ghilan’nain’s beasts are likely more than useful but whose blood will these beasts hunt if they do not find their quarry? If the Forgotten clans are successful in fending them off, will these beasts turn on the People? It is a thought he is sure none of them have considered or if they had, none seem to care. He looks to Mythal, who has been speaking quietly with June and he catches her eyes. She glances away but he knows she has similar thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Something else to consider while in the court of whispers, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh fine, you’ve made your point. An offer of my beasts and a secret or two in exchange for the use of one of your temples? Preferably the one near the coast?” Ghilan’nain concedes. She looks unhappy but hides it quickly behind another sip of her wine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen hums, leaning forward a bit. “Are these secrets worth my time? Perhaps I already know them.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ghilan’nain grins over her cup and Pride knows she’s already won him over. “I suppose the only way to find out is to take the bargain, hm?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Falon’din throws back his head and laughs. “When did little Ghilan’nain become such a delightful negotiator?” He asks before turning toward Dirthamen and saying “You should take the bargain simply for her daring audacity. How refreshing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen’s smirk is quick and gone in a flash but he does nod. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Splendid!” Ghilan’nain exclaims. She raises her glass in toast and Falon’din raises his own with a laugh. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“On the subject of bargains…” June begins and Pride takes this moment to read the rest of the table.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His search leads to Lavellan to see what her reaction is and is surprised to find her missing. His eyes sweep over the hall quickly and he finds her leaning against the wall speaking to a slave with disheveled short black hair and frightful blue eyes. He narrows his gaze, watching them as they speak, and he notes the way the slave shakes his head and takes a step back. Curious and more than a little suspicious, he quietly stands with a hand on Felassan’s shoulder and pulls his gaze away from Lavellan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I need use of the facilities. I’ll be back in a moment,” he says, making sure his voice is just loud enough to be heard by Dirthamen and Andruil who are the closest. Felassan nods and Pride moves away from the table and toward the restrooms in the direction that Lavellan and the slave are still speaking. As he grows closer, he keeps his eyes down so as not to seem like he is listening. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The slave’s voice is barely above a whisper but Pride can make out some of his words. “...is that all you have to say? I had hoped you’d be smarter than that.” The words almost jerk him to a halt but he presses on and rounds the corner so he is out of sight. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Too many people go missing at once and it becomes suspicious. Where is the rest of your family, Sa’lan?” Lavellan’s voice is not the honey drenched syrup it had been before but hard and brittle. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>“The same place as</span> <span>Sabrae’s I imagine. Likely where </span><em><span>yours</span></em><span> will end up if you’re not careful. Doesn’t it disgust you that you sold yourself into the service to the very same ones who-” The slave’s voice abruptly cuts off and he hears a body being slammed against a wall and a grunt. Feet scuff against the tile and Pride is moving around the corner before he can think of the consequences. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Speak another word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>slave, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I’ll have you killed,” she spits out, and the slave is trembling underneath her as she pins him to the wall. “You don’t know a thing about me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let him go.” The words are out before he can stop them and her attention jerks to him in fury. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay out of this, Wolf,” she barks but he crosses his arms and plants his feet instead, an idea forming in his mind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you hope to gain by threatening someone who cannot fight back?” He asks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She scoffs. “Nothing of value, perhaps, but at least I won’t have to listen to him talk anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is a moment when their eyes meet but the moment is broken when he hears footsteps nearby. Her hold on the slave loosens and the man drops to his feet and scurries away quickly. She sneers at him and Pride grins back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this?” Dirthamen’s voice is like ice down his back and sensing this as the only opportunity he will have, he turns and meets the Evanuris without flinching. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does your Champion make it a habit to hunt weak prey? Perhaps she is better suited as head housekeeper,” he says. He hears Lavellan snap her teeth behind him but Pride doesn’t take the bait. Not yet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen slows in his tracks and cocks his head to the side. “I suspect she’d take her role seriously, no matter the circumstances, but I know she’s capable of much more than that. I was not aware that my court and how it’s ruled was the business of Mythal’s champion.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pride knows he’s toeing a dangerous line but he can see Mythal and the other Evanuris are beginning to take interest in their exchange and it’s now or never. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not but I’ve heard such interesting stories of your champion and I am curious to see if she can beat a wolf in a fair fight, rather than a mouse she’s cornered in the dark,” he answers, and his smile stretches when she tsks behind him, “What say you, Dirthamen, Lord of secrets, do you think she can beat me?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh this ought to be good,” Andruil calls from the table. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen hums in thought, glancing between him and Lavellan before turning to focus on Mythal. “What do you think, Mythal? Shall we conclude this meeting with entertainment? Your beast seems roaring for a fight he thinks he can win,” he calls, and then laughs. “And here I was beginning to think the wolf had been tamed. He’s been rather quiet this meeting.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mythal looks thoughtful for a moment before sighing. “Perhaps another time-” she begins and Pride is almost convinced she means it and perhaps he had butchered this opportunity but Andruil, Elgar’nan, and Sylaise immediately protest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let them fight! The wolf could use a good beating!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This meeting has been utterly dull, Mother!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Such nonsense this evening, I could use the break in monotony, Mother.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh very well,” Mythal says, hand up to silence the room, “Let’s make it interesting then. Since this has been a meeting of bargains, let us make one of our own, Dirthamen.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen turns toward her in surprise. “What do you propose? I had not thought I had anything of interest to you in recent time.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you still have that old map of the mountains? The one written in odd runes?” Mythal asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Dirthamen replies, confusion coloring his tone, “What interest does an old map have for you?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to show it to a few spirits that are old enough to be around it’s time of creation. Perhaps they can make sense of it,” she answers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirthamen is quiet for a long moment before speaking and Pride notes that Andruil looks uncomfortable in the silence. To much like her father, he supposes. Craving the sight of blood spilled. “I have shown many old spirits the map. None of them had any answers of its origin other than it is not elven in nature and that they had thought they had seen small men in the mountains but we’ve found no evidence of them.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mythal smiles. “Perhaps you are right but I wish to try anyway. Is an old map so treasured it cannot be bargained for?” She asks and her eyes narrow as if she is suspicious and Pride begins to wonder if he should be too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Small men in the mountains? Not elven in origin? What does Mythal suspect Dirthamen is hiding? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It is another moment before Dirthamen concedes, “Very well. A map in exchange for what? What do I gain should my champion win?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He takes this moment to glance back at Lavellan and finds her leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a frown. She is not watching the exchange between the Evanuris, instead she is watching him and when her eyes meet his, she bares her teeth. He raises a brow but Mythal’s answer to Dirthamen pulls his attention back to the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Should Pride lose, I offer you his services for one year and one day. No more, no less. Perhaps it’s time the wolf makes a visit to the borders and speaks with the People there. Maybe he can prevent a war before it starts or at the very least, remind them of the benevolence of the Evanuris.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For one moment, it appears as if Dirthamen will turn down the offer but Falon’din clears his throat and the two seem to have a conversation without words. After a few seconds, Dirthamen looks away and back at Mythal. “Done.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And just like that, a year and a day of his life is exchanged for an old map and the fear that Dirthamen knows much more than he appears. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Is this truly wise?” Felassan asks, his voice low and eyes flicking around them as they make their way outside toward the courtyard. His grip on his staff is tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He and Felassan are near the back of the crowd as they walk, Mythal just ahead of them speaking to Sylaise and Ghilan’nain, while Suledin follows quietly behind. Pride can hear others around them placing bets and nearly laughs that it appears most place him as the victor. Knowing that the people believe him to be the sure bet and also being aware that these people were about to lose money made it all the more satisfying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Probably not,” he replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan sighs, his shoulders drooping. “I was afraid of that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The large party starts to spread out as they get to the courtyard, leaving just Pride and Lavellan to move further in. The vines and spikes retreat as they walk as magic courses through the air around them. Pride notices spirits gathering at the edges of the courtyard and beyond. He thinks he spots Wisdom in the shadows but when he looks closer, there is no one there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are approaching a large fountain made of gold and ivory and pouring out liquid that looks like fire rather than water when Lavellan stops and turns to him. “I suppose this is far enough away,” she says. He glances at the gathered crowd and the distance before nodding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rules?” She calls, and her voice is louder, amplified by magic toward the Evanuris in the front of the line. Her eyes never leave his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An answer from Mythal is also loud enough to reach them. “Til first blood, perhaps?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This, of course, is quickly followed by boos and protests. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come now, Mother, aren’t you bored?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I say let them fight until they wear themselves out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, very well,” Mythal agrees before calling out the rules, “You are permitted a weapon of your choice. The fight is over only when I call an end to it or one of you concedes. You are not fighting to the death but no healing magic is to be used until the fight is over. Just to make it more fun,” she says and the crowd cheers, “All other magic is permitted but in limited capacity as I’m sure my husband would not appreciate his courtyard destroyed. Be mindful of your surroundings. That is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride and Lavellan nod in agreement and bow to each other before calling out their weapon. He picks a staff and is surprised when she matches his choice. He had assumed she’d pick her daggers but she relinquishes the belt with her daggers to the servant who brings them their weapons. Pride tests the weight of the staff, giving it a few experimental twists and swings. The staff flows well in his arms and feeling satisfied and familiar with it, he slides his foot into a fighting stance and waits. From what he has learned in his short time with the woman across from him, he knows her to be the aggressor. She will attack first, he’s sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It isn’t long before she approaches, swinging her staff toward him and he’s quick to block it. A test swing easily deflected. They circle each other before he swings forward and she blocks before lobbing raw energy at him. He leaps backwards, grinning and feels his blood beginning to pump in excitement. It has been too long since he’s fought someone in a duel. The pace is experimental, both of them attempting to learn each other’s movements. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is light on her feet like he is. Her strikes are not overly powerful but they are quick and he’s picking up a sweat blocking each quick thrust and sharp swing she sends at him. Deflecting magic that singes the air and makes the hair stand on end, he notices her eyes are alight and a small smirk tugging at her lips. She assesses the area, watching, waiting before her feet turn and she rushes at him. He laughs, skirting around her and parrying her swing. He dances out of reach and throws more raw arcane magic at her. It catches her shoulder before she can dodge and her smirk grows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll pay for that,” she says, and her eyes narrow. Her amusement is tangible and it heats his blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiles back. “I hope so,” he quips before dropping down and thrusting his staff out to catch her in the stomach. She leaps sideways, and using her turn, she does a full spin to swing the staff back at him. Too late, he brings his staff up to block, and her swing hits his arm and fingers full force.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pain explodes in his hand, and the staff drops to the golden tiles below. Knowing he has no chance to get the staff back without getting whacked, he leaps backwards when she sees an opening. Feet skidding across the ground, he’s turning and running toward the vines and crystal spikes nearby, her hot on his heels. He can hear cheers going up from the crowd, the stakes finally being raised. His hand is throbbing in time with his quick heartbeat and it is becoming increasingly more difficult to fight off the beast that brushes up against his mind, howling to be let out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He is almost to the crystal spikes, one just long and thin enough to replace his staff temporarily. His hand stretches out to grab it, magic building in his fingers so he has strength enough to pull it from the ground when he feels heat behind him. He turns just in time to throw up a shield and a wave of fire blasts around him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too close, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, panting. She lowers the hand she has out. The plants light up around them and smoke is thick in the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reaches behind him, yanking the spike up and out of the ground and points it at her. Using it as a conduit, he sends a blast of magic at her. It hits her before she can raise her own shield, sending her stumbling backward with a grunt. Her hand flashes out and the vines nearest him wrap around his ankles and she uses the moment to gather her feet under her before rushing at him again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lungs strain with the smoke in the air, his eyes sting and he blocks blindly while he tries to untangle his feet. Pain stings at him from random hits and frustrated, he concentrates magic as close to him and builds it, using his irritation to rip the vines out as he moves backwards in the haze. The magic blasts out of him, sending smoke and flame away and he sees her to his left. He swings the spike her way and the force of the impact against her ribs sends vibration up the makeshift staff into his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cries out, staff flinging out and because he’s too close, it smacks into his face and he feels pain and blood sprout from his nose and the corner of his right eye. They both stumble away from each other. His hand comes up to his face but he stops himself from sending a trickle of healing magic into his injury. Instead, he wipes at his nose and blood smears across his face and hand. He licks his lips and flashes his teeth at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is leaning on her staff, left arm wrapped around her middle and she laughs, though he knows it must hurt. They are both sweating and his face feels like it’s on fire but he grips his crystal spike and runs toward her before she has time to recover. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quicker than he expects, her arm falls away from her middle to grip her staff and they meet in the middle. His momentum pushes her arms down but he can’t break their lock to get a swing in. He puts more pressure on her arms to get her to yield but she swipes a foot out and before he knows it, he crashes to the ground. His crystal spike shatters under him and he feels some of it bite into his sides. He throws a barrier out to block her inevitable swing and he’s rolling and up before her arm finishes the motion. It bounces off the barrier and she huffs in annoyance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air is cracking around them though the fires are already being smothered by the vines and plants as if they have a mind of their own. It is fascinating and if he had more time, he’d study it in more detail. He is weaponless again, his hand, face, and right side in pain and he can feel blood trickling down his skin. Lavellan looks in a similar shape, though less bloody, she is favoring the side he hit. He takes a moment to assess her and he can see her eyes are hard and her smirk is gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls on the fade around them and prepares for her approach. The magic swirls around his arms and hands, which he curls into fists and lifts his chin to meet her gaze. He will simply have to fight her the old fashioned way. She sees his intentions and cocks an eyebrow before chuckling. “Very well,” she says before tossing her staff away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline but he has no time to linger on her choice before she’s on him in a blur. It is magic he knows and instead of dodging, he meets her head on. His arm comes up to block her fist but she is a blur of motion. He thought her swift before but she is like a dancer and he wonders how long she can keep this up with her side injury. He kicks out, trying to catch her foot but she flips backwards. Despite himself, he is briefly distracted by her graceful movements and now he knows she may have won the fight had she had her daggers. His blood sings and he chases after her like a wolf seeking prey. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They each get a couple blows in before the pain of their injuries begin to catch up. Their fight needs to end and he still has to lose without being obvious about it. He swings his gaze around, eyes catching the staff she had tossed and a plan forms in his mind. Seizing on the momentary break in the fight, he kicks out and pushes her away before sprinting toward the staff. The move is reckless, his back is exposed and he knows he wouldn’t have done it but his opponent and the watching crowd does not, save Mythal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He preps for the coming blow he knows she’ll deliver because she is an opportunist like him. He is seconds away from reaching it when he goes flying forward, his feet wrapped in vines and before he can roll out of the way, she is on him. A knee digs into his back, his side aches and she yanks on his air, pulling his head back to expose his neck. He feels something pressing against his neck and a glint of light catches on a piece of the crystal spike he had been using in her dirtied hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When did she have time…? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But he doesn’t get a moment to speculate because her breath puffs against his ear, hot and panting and the sound makes his racing heart stutter when she says, “I should kill you, Wolf.” He thinks she is going to and his wolf is beginning to take over when Mythal calls out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Enough!</em>
  </b>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan stills above him and she hisses before letting his hair go and getting off him. The vines are still twining around his legs and he feels them tighten before releasing him and slithering away like snakes as the crowd approaches. He suspects Elgar’nan must have some semblance of control over the plants in his courtyard and the thought amuses him. The sting and aches of his many injuries propel him into moving and he fights down the call of his wolf as he stands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Would she have killed him, he muses. His eyes seek hers and she licks her lips, blood dripping from a cut on her lip and she winks at him. The crystal piece is gone, either tucked away on her person or flung away from them, and he thinks, yes. She would have killed him. The thought makes him uneasy but this mission was dangerous already and it is only one more thing to be weary of. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, her mouth is swollen from a punch he had landed and his eyes trace a path over the curve of her lips to the cut that bleeds and stains her lips redder than before. His mind supplies the memory of her breath on his ear and he has to look away before he decides to wink back. His side hurts and he winces as he walks to meet with Mythal. Her expression is sharp and strained, like she’s doomed him, and perhaps she has. He kneels when she and the rest reach them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How disappointing, Pride,” Mythal says, and her voice gives away nothing but displeasure at his seemingly failure to win. He drops his shoulders, cheeks flaming and looking to all the world that he has disgraced himself in front of the Evanuris. She clicks her tongue, turning away from him and crossing her arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry I’ve failed you.” His voice is strained and heavy. He swallows, his eyes lowering to the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You will be reprimanded for this but it will have to wait. A bargain is a bargain, I must uphold it,” she answers. He nods and raises his gaze toward Dirthamen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen’s eyes behind his mask are dark and cold, watching their exchange before looking at his champion. He smiles, though Pride notes the sentiment doesn’t seem to reach his eyes as if he follows the motions he knows he must but does not feel them. “I am impressed by your victory, Lavellan. I will reward you upon our return to my court. Go clean yourself up, we will be leaving within the hour.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan thanks him and walks back toward the hall. A few of Falon’din’s party break away from the crowd to follow her, some cheering and sending praises her way and Pride snickers inwardly when he catches a few grumbling about losing money. Andruil and Ghilan’nain laugh, the red headed Evarnuis patting Lavellan on the shoulder and the crowd begins to thin out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride stays on his knees, waiting for further instructions from the two Evanuris involved with the bargain discuss terms. Elgar’nan sneers down at him. “I had thought you’d win, Dread Wolf. I’ve seen you on a few battlefields, myself. More beast than man. A shame but I suppose Lavellan is deadly in her own right,” he says, crossing his arms before looking at Dirthamen. “A good choice for a champion. She is a valuable addition to your court.” With that said, he turns and walks away, Sylaise and June and the rest of their own parties leaving with them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So when does this year of service begin?” The question is posed by Falon’din. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The morning. I will send him to your court after a night of rest. He is to attend me before I join my husband for the night.” Her answer is firm and Dirthamen nods, finding no fault in waiting. He and his husband finally leave to return to the hall and gather their party and victorious champion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The four of them left are quiet for a moment before Mythal sighs. “You may stand now, Pride. You must be in pain. Turning your back on your opponent was foolish.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs before climbing to his feet. “I had hoped I’d be fast enough but I was wrong. She is quite the fighter,” he says and his arm goes to his side where the blood has soaked into his armor where the shattered crystal spike had pierced through it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mythal tuts and a wave of healing magic surges through him. He will need more but it is enough to help him move without pain. He thanks her as they all turn and head back to the hall. When they reach the end of the hall, Mythal turns and heads away from the crowd and toward her own rooms she and her husband share when she visits his palace in Arlathan. The three of them follow behind her, and Pride avoids searching the hall for Lavellan or the other Evanuris. He notes how quiet Felassan has been. He has not said a word, his lips drawn in a tight line and he grips his staff enough to turn his knuckles white. Suledin walks beside them with a hand resting on his sword’s pommel and he, too, looks perturbed at the turn of events. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They will understand soon enough, I suspect. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don’t speak the whole trip to Mythal’s room. Once inside, Felassan opens his mouth but Pride quickly gestures to be silent. Magic falls over the four with a gesture of Mythal’s hand and he feels the same sound barrier from the night before. He lets out a sigh and searches the room for a place to sit before deciding against it. Everything in the room is too decadent and he is filthy and covered in blood. He flicks his wrist, willing magic over his body and the stains and grime disappear from his clothes. He smiles in satisfaction before moving toward a chair and sitting down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can speak freely now but time is limited. I don’t wish for someone to notice three men in my room, servants or not.” Mythal says. She declines to sit too close and instead walks over to the windows on the far wall and sits down on the window’s ledge. “I suspect you have questions, Felassan. Ask them.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to know why Pride lost that fight on purpose. And don’t say you didn’t because I know better.” Felassan accuses. Suledin hums in agreement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I needed access to Dirthamen’s court to find out if there is truth to the rumors that Falon’din is sacrificing slaves in rituals and what else is going on in those courts,” Mythal announces and Felassan’s eyes widen at her words. Mythal continues, “I also wanted to test Lavellan’s skills against Pride’s. She is an unknown piece to this puzzle. I need more information. The two of you will be my guardians until Pride’s year is up. Felassan, you will be the go between when Pride sends me updates. Suledin will be my stand in champion until Pride returns. Is this acceptable?” Mythal could simply order them and they would obey but she always offers a choice. It is often what makes her the most different from her fellow Evanuris and it is what drew him to serve her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two nod and Mythal dismisses them. Pride stands to leave just behind them but Mythal stops him before he can make it to the door. He glances back at her in confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will have servants pack you clothes and anything else you think you may need and have them sent to you. Let Felassan know if there is anything in particular you wish to take with you and I’ll see that it is done.” She says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. I hope I did not disappoint you too much,” he replies, his hands behind his back in his custom stance though his side is beginning to hurt again and his nose and eye throb. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was a good fight. Not your best but it will have to do. I am not disappointed,” she says before looking out the window a moment. Something catches her attention and she looks back at him and gestures toward the door. He nods in understanding and turns to leave but stops just before opening the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was the map the true goal or was that an opportunity you chose to act on in the moment?” He asks. He doesn’t turn around but he can feel her golden gaze on his back and hear the amusement laced in her answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do not win wars by fighting to death in every battle. Pick the fights you can win, remember your goals, and do nothing that does not further them. It is a rule I suggest you follow while you are at Dirthamen’s court as it is the same one I have followed my whole life. Be cautious, Pride, there is much to learn in the court of whispers.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does not reply back and leaves quickly and quietly out of her room before he lingers too long. He mulls over her words as he heads to the room nearby that is his for the night. She didn’t quite answer his question but he thinks he understands the subtext. The map had been the goal from the start but there are too many moving pieces and Dirthamen’s court holds vital information she needs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever answers lurk in the shadows of Dirthamen and Falon’din’s lands is something he must discover and as he removes his armor and settles in for the night, he vows to do so. After sending another dose of healing magic through his body, enough to allow him to sleep for the night, he drifts off thinking about Lavellan’s red stained lips, violet eyes, and the questions he has for her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too many people go missing at once... </span>
  </em>
  <span>is his last thought before sleep claims him. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>His day starts with a trip to the infirmary so he can properly heal from yesterday’s duel. His side aches and his face, particularly his nose, throbs in tune with his footsteps. Not seeing a healer the night before has left traces of regret that comes in the form of aching muscles and stinging cuts. After he’s done being healed, and chastised for not doing so the night before, he stops by to speak with Felassan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh a pity, you look much less cocky without a crooked nose and black eye.” This is how Felassan greets him when he opens the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride chuckles. “But no less prideful, I should hope,” he replies. Felassan snorts and steps aside to let him enter the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you be groveling at Mythal’s feet, begging for mercy? I believe you </span>
  <em>
    <span>lost </span>
  </em>
  <span>your duel with Lavellan,” Felassan says. It is a reminder that there could be listening ears nearby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I serve Mythal and her interests. I lost the duel and the bargain must be fulfilled. It’s only a year. A blink of time, some would say,” he answers, “Besides, Felassan, I never beg.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never say never, my friend,” Felassan warns before gesturing toward the chest pushed up against his bed. “I went ahead and packed what I thought you’d find useful. Your sentinel armor is in here, as well as some other clothes I think would fit Dirthamen’s court. Least you offend Falon’din’s pompous sensibilities. I also packed some books I think you’d prefer to have. I was up half the night digging through your room trying to think of belongings you’d want with you. If there is anything I missed, send me a message and I’ll get it to you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride is both surprised and touched by Felassan’s forethought and he grips his friend's shoulder in thanks. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he says before letting go and flicking magic at the chest to levitate it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He meets Felassan’s violet gaze and nods. “Keep Mythal safe until I return. Update me on any developments I should know about and stay out of trouble. I won’t be there to rescue you should you somehow manage to offend a noble.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan huffs. “That happened one time ten years ago. How was I supposed to know she was interested in marriage?” He grumbles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride laughs. “You and I both know you were well aware of her ambitions. Besides, did you not come from a noble household? I suspect you know more on how these things work than even I. We will talk sometime later. I have questions about your time in Dirthamen’s court. And...about what you know of Lavellan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan humor dies at his words and he reaches out to grab his arm before he can leave. “Be careful of Lavellan, Pride.” There is no sarcasm or amusement to be found in Felassan’s voice and Pride's curiosity soars but he stuffs it down because he needs to leave. “Her ambitions could rival the Evanuris and she plays the game far better than I. Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>be distracted by her swaying hips and lose yourself in lust, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wolf.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I had not planned on it,” he replies but it does not feel like a lie even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been distracted by her already. There were much more important secrets to be sniffed out in the court of whispers and Mythal is relying on him to find them. Lavellan could not pull him from that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan raises a brow before nodding. “Whatever you say, Pride.” He lets go of his arm and continues, following next to him as they head for the door. The chest floats behind them. “I’ll keep Mythal safe. Suledin has not left her side since yesterday and I plan to join them at breakfast once you leave. My best piece of advice for Dirthamen’s court is that every secret learned comes with a price and some of them are not worth paying. Trust no one and assume that anything you say will reach Dirthamen’s ears in due time.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that final warning, they part at the door. Pride heads right, heading toward the Eluvian that will lead him to the crossroads, his luggage following behind him as he walks. His thoughts are consumed by his conversation with Felassan. His musing flits from Lavellan’s possible ambitions to how he plans to conceal his intentions in a court ruled by the Lord of secrets. A deep sense of foreboding comes over him as he draws closer to the mirror. There is no turning back and he feels that whatever truths he uncovers in the future will lead only to doom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The day is still young and yet when he passes through the mirror and steps into crossroads, he feels a darkness hovering, dragging at him and warning him to turn around. The feeling follows him all the way to Dirthamen’s palace and when he steps inside and is greeted by men and women in robes with blood red vallaslin, he thinks perhaps he should have listened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too late, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks and he follows behind his silent guides into the den of lions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>….. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His room is spacious, finely furnished with a sofa and a large bed. A dresser sits on the left wall and he takes a few moments to unpack his stuff and put it away. He debates on whether or not to wear the robes Felassan has packed for him or the sentinel armor and decides that when in the court of secrets, do as scholars and priests of truth would do. He dons the black and green robes, fitted to him perfectly despite knowing he had never commissioned nor purchased these. He is beginning to think he owes Felassan a debt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He uses a strip of leather to pull his wild, untamable hair off his neck. Once done, he searches the chest for his set of daggers and finds them at the bottom. He is stronger in staff fighting and fade magic, but knives are easier to conceal and quicker to grab. He is about to explore Dirthamen’s palace further when a knock sounds at his door. Sighing, he walks over to open it. A slave stands on the other side looking uncomfortable and tired but she gives him a weak smile and a deep bow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do not need to bow to me,” he says as kindly as he can. When she rises, her eyes do not meet his. He is left feeling deeply uncomfortable. “I would prefer if you didn’t.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gives a very slight nod but her eyes don’t raise any further than his shoulder as she informs him that tonight he has been requested for a formal dinner and entertainment as Dirthamen’s honored guest. He wants to refuse, he can scarcely imagine what kind of entertainment the Lord of secrets would have at dinner, but he would have to attend. He is, after all, under Dirthamen’s control while at his court. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very well. Lead the way?” He frames it as a request but she turns without hesitation and heads down the hallway. He steps out, closing the door behind him, and follows behind her. While they walk, he makes note of which directions they turn and what each hallway looks like. Every door that’s closed as they pass, he wonders where they may lead to and what is behind them. Large statues of ravens stand near pillars of gold. Mosaics of Dirthamen and Falon’din covered in emeralds and rubies form a pattern on the tiles. Bones carved around doorways and painted with red raven eyes so real looking, he has to look away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks in silence and is met with it in turn. Only the sounds of their footsteps echo in the hallways. He sees little of anyone outside of slaves as they make their way to the great hall. He is used to noise, chatting nobles and laughing servants. The sound of children running around splashing in fountains in Mythal’s courtyard. He has seen none of that so far and wonders just how different Falon’din and Dirthamen’s courts are compared to Mythal’s. Even Sylaise’s court is lively with vibrant plants and music. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reach the end of a long hallway and he is surprised when he hears voices speaking and soft drums. Glasses clinking and quiet conversation drift out of the great hall and when he walks in, there are nobles sitting around small tables around the room, leaving a large circle in the middle empty. Dirthamen and Falon’din sit at a long table on a raised platform facing the room. His eyes seek out Lavellan but he does not find her. There is an empty chair on either side of the Evanuris and he supposes one of them is for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slaves move around the tables serving food and wine, their feet silent and heads bowed. He is not hungry but a meal would make for a good distraction. He is curious about the empty space left open in the room and whatever entertainment Dirthamen and Falon’din have planned for him as an “honored” guest. It’s a formality, he knows, as technically he is here to serve at court for a year and a day as a punishment for losing a duel. He does not know what kind of service he is to be to Dirthamen but he supposes he will find out eventually. He hopes he gets sent to the border sooner rather than later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen and Falon’din are not wearing their bone masks tonight and he thinks that they look less intimidating for it. Is it for his benefit, he wonders, or their court’s? He catches Falon’din motioning for him to come forward and his hands go behind his back as he walks. His chin is lifted and he meets the two Evanuris with a smirk that rivals Falon’din’s. Dirthamen smiles at him, his dark eyes watching as Pride slowly crosses the room. The voices taper off as he passes and his smirk grows. He wonders what Dirthamen has said about his arrival, if the Evanuris has said anything at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dread Wolf, welcome to the Court of whispers,” Falon’din greets, voice resounding across the silent room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride bows, quick and just low enough to be respectful. “An honor to be here. Your court’s hospitality has been most gracious.” He even means it as everyone so far </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>been gracious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re too kind. Come, sit with us,” Falon’din says, gesturing to the seat next to him. “The food and drink are plenty and I think you’ll find tonight’s entertainment to be to your tastes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride doubts it but he supposes he’s being a bit unfair. His respect for any Evanuris that keeps slaves is non-existent and any “entertainment” in a place he’s been assigned to find out if there are sacrifices and blood rituals going on is suspect. To keep the peace, and the charade of civility however, he chooses to walk forward and take a seat next to Falon’din. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks the other chair next to Dirthamen is for Lavellan, wherever she may be. The empty chair next to Falon’din he now occupies has him wondering where Falon’din’s champion may be. He asks as much, pouring himself wine and taking the plate of food offered by a slave whose hands tremble just slightly as he reaches forward. He takes the plate gently and the slave scurries away. A frown ticks his lips downward but he covers it swiftly with a sip of his wine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dead, regrettably,” Falon’din replies, “I had him executed for treason. A shame he turned out to be slipping information into enemies ears. I rather liked him. He reminded me a little of you. A bit hot headed but intelligent. Just simply...not smart enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride laughs, pushing down the feeling of being vaguely threatened, before taking a bite of the food he’d almost forgotten was on his plate. After a moment, he says. "Interesting that he chose to pass information along to enemies with Dirthamen so close at hand. The Lord of secrets had not suspected disloyalty beforehand?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falon’din shakes his head. “I believe his higher rank in court granted him a better view of information. It certainly led to inappropriate relationships with the workers.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shock courses through him. “He was sleeping with the slaves?” Pride asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe he was sleeping with one in particular and this led to certain sympathies in regards to this slave’s much lower rank,” The Evanuris replies, “A champion of mine from a noble family cannot marry a slave of no consequence. It leads to tragedy and naturally, that’s the course it took.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course he can’t. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That would lift the slave to much a higher rank in court, perhaps, but it would not free them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah and these sympathies made him more inclined to spill secrets to another sympathetic ear. One who is already at odds with the court and may offer a better solution to a desperate man’s wish for change.” Pride deduces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Love is often powerful on it’s own but so easy to manipulate,” Falon’din says, swirling his wine before taking another sip, “I had needed only to threaten the slave during the interrogation and he was telling me everything I wanted to know. A pity.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A tragedy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened to the slave?” But he knows the answer already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I killed them. They knew too much.” Falon’din admits. His words are blunt and there is no ounce of remorse or sympathy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Naturally. You’re wrong, though,” Pride informs, “Turns out he was nothing like me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falon’din raises his brows. “Oh?” He asks before adding, “I hadn’t meant to imply you would have fallen for a slave.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Pride says, then smirks because he can’t help himself, “I would not have slipped information to the wrong ear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falon’din erupts in laughter and surprisingly, so does Dirthamen, who had been silent during their exchange until now. Pride laughs along with them, graciously accepting the complement of his supposed humor from Dirthamen. The nobles closest to the deis join in as well and Pride takes another bite of food he thinks tastes as rotten as the hearts he is surrounded by. He wants to ask where Dirthamen’s champion is. He has not seen her since he arrived and he hadn’t thought she would be far from Dirthamen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just when his curiosity begins to prove too much for him, the lights in the room dim. The drums start up again. A slow and steady beat that’s joined with an occasional thrum of a stringed instrument. He can’t see where the music is coming from. Magic amplifies the noise around the room making it seem as if it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The laughter and voices die down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, finally,” Falon’din says, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As have I,” Dirthamen adds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The entertainment, I suppose. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room is quiet save the music. Wisps and other spirits in the room dim their projected light to add to the darkness but he catches a few that drift up toward the ceiling. He follows their dancing tendrils and spots someone in the rafters and after a moment, they begin to descend downward, spinning slowly as if floating. He spots a small delicate bronze foot and then another and wisps cluster over her descending body until she lands, lightly on her feet in the middle of the room. She bows and a chorus of  gasps and soft voices of the gathered nobles in the room oh and ah at her creative entrance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He notes all this in the back of his mind. The part of himself that catalogues everything he sees and hears but it feels like his ears are ringing. His mouth is dry. She is...the most stunning woman he has ever seen and as she steps further into the lit area in the middle, he almost knocks over his wine when he realizes that it’s Lavellan. She is dressed in...very little. Fabric that wraps around her breast, covered in jewels that reflect the light. Sheer fabric skirting that offers the most basic of coverings. The blue of her outfit shifts like the sun reflecting off a lake, sometimes it looks green and teal and then yellow and gold. There are bells and bangles that hang off her belt and her wrists that ring and clink together as she bows. He wonders how the spell weaver tailor managed to make fabric that looks like water but he’s already forgotten why because her body is moving in time with the beat of the drums and he is mesmerized. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The headpiece she wears looks like a crown of stars and as she shifts her body in tune with the sway of the music, her hips canting left and right in a circular motion, it begins to glow. She drifts forward and her violet eyes catch his. His heart races and he tries to look away but his gaze refuses to move. They sweep over her from head to toe and find her lips when they move back up. Her mouth is painted a much darker shade of red than last he saw, and she gives a soft sensual smile. He can almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>Felassan’s warnings from this morning running through his mind on a loop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Donotbedistractedbyherswayinghips. Donotbedistractedbyherswayinghips.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Is this what Felassan meant? Has she done this before? Is it a spell she is casting? He would like to think he’d notice a spell being weaved but perhaps this is a different type of magic. He takes a drink of his wine and tries to not choke on it when her hips shake faster as the drums speed up. She spins, flashing smooth tanned skin. He glances toward the two Evanuris sitting next to him and sees he is not the only one mesmerized. His eyes are dragged back to her as she moves around the room. As the music hits a crescendo, she twirls and as she does, her skirt twines around her bare legs and the bells tied to her belt add to the beat of the song. He grips his cup and wants nothing more than to look away. To listen to the voice in his head reminding him to not be diverted by a beautiful woman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She dances until the music ends and then bows again. The room erupts in applause, himself included, and he watches her with hooded eyes as she laughs, walking up to join them at the table. Dirthamen offers her a hand to help her to her seat without standing and she takes it with a smile. “Thank you,” she says, breathy and elated from her dance and the crowd’s reaction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Beautifully done, Lavellan. You are a boon to this court. A fierce fighter and a tasteful dancer,” Falon’din compliments before turning to Pride, “Did you enjoy the show? We wanted to give you a positive impression to honor your arrival. As a gift, of course. Are you impressed by Dirthamen’s choice in champion?” He asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride smiles as best he can, his eyes on Falon’din and not on Lavellan who’s gaze he can feel as he speaks, “Dirthamen was right in choosing her. I believe I misspoke yesterday. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>suited for much more than a housekeeper,” he says, and then because the temptation is too much, his eyes land on her. She is smirking, looking like the cat that caught the bird unawares. How fitting. “The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit to your indomitable focus. It is captivating to watch,” he says. His voice is husky and he has to take a sip of his wine to distract himself from her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you suggesting I’m graceful?” She asks, amused as she accepts a plate of food and takes a bite. His eyes follow her fork to her mouth and he looks away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he corrects, licking his lips and tasting the fruit and bitter tang of his wine as his eyes sweep over the crowd, all eyes on the table, even those in the back who couldn’t possibly hear them before looking back at her, “I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grins, eyes dancing with amusement and interest. Dirthamen and Falon’din chuckle and their added voices agreeing with his assessment of Lavellan breaks their eye contact. “Such a sweet talker you are, Wolf,” Falon’din says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So I have heard,” he replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They fall into silence as they eat the rest of their dinner, though the rest of the gathered nobles speak amongst themselves. It isn’t long before he feels it acceptable to excuse himself and return to his room. They bid him goodnight and as he walks down the halls, he contemplates using the time to explore the rest of Dirthamen’s palace before deciding against it. He is being watched. He can feel eyes on him from more than just the doorways. Tonight is not ideal for spying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he finally reaches his room and readies himself for bed, he thinks on his conversation with Falon’din from dinner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A champion and slave killed for treason...What information was his champion passing along and to whom? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He falls asleep wondering exactly what warning Falon’din was giving him. A warning of being caught should he choose to pass information to enemies of the court… or a warning about how easy love can be used to manipulate? </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A knock on his door that morning pulls him from his thoughts on Falon’din’s warning from the night before. He is just finishing putting on another set of robes he knows he didn’t purchase when the sound comes and curious, he wanders over to the door and opens it. Lavellan stands on the other side, hair pulled back and up today, showing the gentle sloping curve of her neck that he absolutely does his best not to follow. Her armor is back, though this armor is more of a formal dress made with armored pieces type of style that Mythal usually favors. She smiles at him and leans against the doorway. “Good morning, Wolf. I was wondering if you’d like to make a trip to the Vir Dirthara with me this morning?” She asks, crossing her arms as she waits for his answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been planning to make my way there sometime today. I haven’t been since shortly after taking this form.” He crosses his arms and mirrors her position, something he’s picked up on over time that helps to put people at ease. He continues, “I hadn’t expected a personal invitation from Dirthamen’s champion, however. Eager student or are you attending business?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps it’s both. Who’s to say you can’t enjoy a little pleasure while taking care of business?” She says, winking at him before moving out of her leaning position. She turns and begins walking away before he can answer. When he doesn’t follow, she looks over her shoulder at him. “Are you coming or not?” She asks and despite himself, his eyes trace over her bare neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushes out of his lean and turns to close his door behind him. “Only because I am curious what pleasurable business you can get out of a library so early in the morning.” Is what he says. His thoughts wander in places he refuses to linger too long in. It would do neither of them any good and it does nothing to further his goals. He follows behind her quietly, memorizing each new area they come across as she heads to the Eluvian that takes them to the crossroads and beyond that to some places in between. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Vir Dirthara is one such place. So tied to both the material world and the fade, it exists in its own pocket of reality. It is the jewel of Dirthamen’s lands. At least to him it is. The one thing he and Dirthamen seem to share is their mutual love for knowledge. As they pass through crossroads, Lavellan seems to relax her guard. She falls back to walk alongside him, arms swinging and pace set to a casual stroll as they trail along paths and up a floating staircase. His hands go behind his back, his steps slow to match hers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you often visit the Vir Dirthara?” He asks, his voice floating along the gentle breeze to reach her. He watches her hand come up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear and he turns to look away as he waits for her answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not as often as I would like,” she replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hums in thought. “A busy woman,” he comments, “I remember the first time I got to visit here. I could have spent years wandering down the aisles, learning everything this place had to offer, and still have a want for more. Knowledge is power.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Having knowledge is half the battle, they say. Especially if it’s knowledge of things others may not know,” she answers. She stops to pick up a book as they enter the library, taking a moment to listen to whatever memory the book contains. She turns to look at him with a smirk. “Secrets are where true power lies.” She tucks the book underneath her arm before continuing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opens his mouth to either agree or contradict her, he’s not even sure, but a familiar voice catches his ear. He follows the voice around the corner, Lavellan strutting off to another part of the library to take care of whatever business has brought her here, and finds Wisdom speaking with a spirit of Learning and another elf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It would not be wise to use the root properties of that plant for any kind of spell. The mess alone would not be worth it,” Learning says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wisdom tilts her chin in thought before shaking her head. “I disagree. If he would have it contained in glass, perhaps, the mess would be minimal. Not wood. I have seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>mistake made enough to know it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> unwise,” she advises, pondering for a few moments before continuing, “But not the roots. I recommend the flowers instead. The stems are strong in brewing, the roots messy and often crushed too quickly. The flowers, however - </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be truly interesting.”   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what plant they speak of but Learning is nodding enthusiastically. “Oh yes! The flowers! Interesting, indeed! Oh we </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>try it!” The spirit drifts off, already sprouting theories as they go, and the elf thanks Wisdom before following. Books and scattered parchment notes floating behind him. Pride watches them go before chuckling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I want to know what type of spell he wants to conjure?” He asks, and smiles when Wisdom turns to see him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A love potion, of course. It won’t work but I do want to see what may come of it anyway,” she answers, amusement tilting her lips up in a smile though she held no physical body, he knows her well enough to see it, “It is nice to see you, Pride,” she greets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is good to see you, as well. Tell me, what brings a spirit of Wisdom to the library this morning?” He asks. He walks along the rows of books as Wisdom drifts beside him. They make their way into the main chamber where scholars from all over Elvhenan sit at tables writing notes and pressing hands over tablets and books. One elf in the corner is weaving a memory into a book while two others are adding snippets of their own. A hushed argument takes place in the corner. He cannot hear what the speakers are arguing about but a Librarian is hovering nearby, glaring at the noise as their voices raise too loud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wisdom drifts closer to the two arguing but seems to change her mind when the Librarian decides its had enough. The two watch as the Librarian asks the pair to take their argument elsewhere. As they get closer, the blonde elf shoots a furious look at the Librarian before huffing and stomping off. The other elf left behind apologies politely before leaving as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I had thought to see what new memories had been added. To know wisdom is to seek it,” she answers, quietly as to not attract the Librarian who has sent a look their way as if in warning before floating off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride frowns. He had been seeking wisdom for as long as he can remember but he has never been able to find it. At least he doesn’t think he has. He has always been Pride. When Mythal had asked him to take a body, he figured it may help. Bodies feel more, know more, than just Pride or Compassion or Faith. Perhaps, wisdom could be gained in this. He still doesn’t know but it’s too late to turn back now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What brings you here?” She asks, her eyes on the upper level bannister. He follows her line of sight and sees Lavellan conversing with another elf. The other elf looks stern and severe. His mouth is pinched at the corners, pulling toward a scowl. It drags Dirthamen’s vallaslin - blood red like Lavellan’s painted lips, down on his face. His eyes blaze fiercely at Lavellan and Pride is so busy staring at the two, he almost bumps into a bookcase nearby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat, stopping and pulling his gaze away to look at Wisdom. She laughs softly. “I was invited,” he says, “Though I’m not sure why.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you were invited to watch her back,” Wisdom suggests. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorts. “I do not believe so. Lavellan seems more than capable of handling her affairs.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wisdom drifts closer to the bookshelf, laying a hand on a book and then floating it toward him. He cocks a brow before taking the book. His head is filled suddenly with a deep voice, speaking softly with the air of a lecturer. He closes his eyes and lets the memory recorded in the book play out through his eyes, as if he is there. His shoulders are sagged forward, elbows digging into legs. He sits leaned forward in his chair, chin resting in his hand. The Lecturer reciting the history of the old world. Back when elves were spirits made flesh and growing as the People. Gods of the air made war with the clans of the lands. Before Andruil and Sylaise were born. Back when Elgar’nan and Mythal walked the earth as respected leaders. Before Falon’din, Dirthamen, and June manifested outside of the fade. The People were frightened, living in shadow, afraid to step into the valleys and the hills in fear of being swooped up by the Great Dragons that roamed the skies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This war led to generals, to armies, to kings and queens. When Mythal and Elgar’nan learned the secret to shapeshift into flying beasts. They clashed with these Gods and defeated them. June, Falon’din and Dirthamen joined them. Becoming leaders of their own. They warred with these beasts for ages until Mythal, clever in her wisdom, thought to drive them underground. Far below the earth, they were put to rest. The People feared no longer. They built cities, sought knowledge, crafted wonders, buried and honored those who had died in their wars. Found pride in their existence. The People stood tall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride comes out of the memory, blinking in confusion before passing the book back to Wisdom. “I have not thought of how I came to be in a very long time…” he says, blinking back the prick of tears he had not expected. He clears his throat to get rid of the lump.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wisdom places the book back on the shelf and then lays a hand on his shoulder. It is gentle and warm. Her voice is soft as she says, “Wisdom is often found in memories overlooked or forgotten. To look forward, one must keep track of where one has already been. Remember that in the coming years, Pride.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods, emotions too close to the surface for him to speak. After a moment, Wisdom removes her hand and they both fall quiet, listening to Lavellan and the other elf’s hushed whispers. He catches snippets of their argument and pretends to read book titles as he listens. He thinks Wisdom may be shielding them. A simple but effective “look away” spell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have been dabbling in spells you shouldn’t be. That magic is not meant for you, Banalras,” Lavellan warns. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What business is it to you? You are no higher than a slave these days. Where is your family now, Lavellan? Scraping by on a merchant’s wealth? Your father used to be so well respected. The noble house of Lavellan,” he spits back, “I am a Priest of Dirthamen. A seeker of knowledge true. The magic belongs to those who dare to search for it. Stay out of my business. The temple is of no threat to Dirthamen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It becomes my problem when it begins to affect the court. I am warning you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>priest, </span>
  </em>
  <span>stop reaching above your station.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As you did?” He asks, tone disbelieving, “Is that not what you did?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She huffs. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you, Banalras. I will be letting Dirthamen know of your projects. I suggest you desist or face the wrath of the Lord of Secrets.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Banalras scoffs. “Dirthamen will find me worthy,” he snaps back. He hears footsteps and he and Wisdom glance up to see Lavellan now alone, looking murderous and fingering the dagger strapped to her side. She lets out a sigh before glancing around the lower level. Her eyes scan over their heads but doesn’t seem to notice them and it confirms his suspicions that Wisdom is hiding them. The two of them walk around the bookcase before she notices. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you suppose that was about?” Pride asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing good. Look into it. I suspect it will lead to trouble,” she says, “I will report back to Mythal. Be careful.” With that, she moves away before stopping and turning back. “And Pride?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” He asks, lost in thought with the overheard conversation. What magic was this priest dabbling in and why was Lavellan concerned over it? What did Banalras mean about Lavellan’s position in court? Grabbing for power? Did her family fall out of favor from the court and if so, how? He glances at Wisdom when she does not continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tilts her head, “In order to brew a love potion successfully, the roots have to be there in order for the flower to blossom. Is that not how love works?” She asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, surprised by the topic change but no less impressed with Wisdom’s...well wisdom. “I believe you to be right,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s gone just in time for Lavellan to round the corner and find him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There you are. I had thought to find you in the fade studies section. Though, I suppose history seems to suit you too.” She skims the row of books as she approaches him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raises a brow at her. “You seem to know me so well and yet I know so little of you. What section of the Vir Dirthara draws your interest?” He asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the bookcase. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grins at him, “The secret forbidden section, of course,” she replies. She puts a hand on her hip. “I’ve concluded my business with the library for the day. Would you like to have a midday meal with me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, leaning closer. “You never did tell me why you asked me to come with you when you seemed to have abandoned me the minute we arrived.” It’s been puzzling him since she arrived at his doorstep this morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s for me to know,” she whispers, leaning close enough to flick at a lock of his hair before pulling back, “And for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>to find out. Over food?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very well,” he says back, eyes tracing over her red lips before pushing away from the bookcase and following after her as she turns and heads toward the entrance. He tells himself it is curiosity that has him wandering after her. He needs to learn what he can and she seems to know quite a bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks Felassan would tell him he is a liar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks Felassan would be right. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Let’s have our meal outside,” Lavellan suggests when they arrive back in Dirthamen’s palace. “It’s a warm day and I can use the sunshine.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods his agreement and keeps his frown to himself when she waves down a passing slave hauling laundry down the corridor. The slave pauses, waiting for Lavellan to speak. The girl couldn’t have been more than four hundred, a young adult. He grits his teeth and smiles to reassure her when she glances nervously between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sulahn, yes?” Lavellan asks, putting a hand on her shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The slave nods. Pride is surprised that Lavellan knows the slave's name. That’s the second one he’s noticed she knew. He wonders if she’s interacted with them more frequently or if she is like him and has memorized faces and names of those of Dirthamen’s slaves the way he has done for Mythal’s servants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When you’ve finished taking those to the laundress, bring Pride and I a couple plates of food from the kitchens. We’ll be outside in the courtyard near the tree of ages.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, mistress,” the girl says. Lavellan smiles and nods her head toward the hallway so the slave can continue on her way. Pride places his hands behind his back as he and Lavellan continue down the corridor. He side eyes her as they walk and she grins though she doesn’t look his way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you staring at, Wolf?” She asks. Her smile is infectious and he feels one tug his lips up in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh are we back to that? You called me by my name only a few moments ago,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head. “A slip of the tongue,” she replies, hand gesturing up casually as if she hadn’t noticed the distinction but her tone is amused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckles and they continue their walk to the courtyard in companionable silence. The only sounds are their footfalls in the hallway. He notes which slaves come from where, keeping his curiosity in check as best he can to not draw attention. Lavellan takes a right and they walk into the courtyard along a tiled path. Unlike Mythal and Elgar’nan’s plant filled courtyards, Dirthamen’s is filled with sandstone pillars carved in the shape of ravens. A large statue of Dirthamen kneeling is set in the middle, mouth open to pour water into a pool basin down below him. The path is mostly sand and rocks rather than grass and bushes. He can smell the ocean brine nearby and birds pass overhead. The tree of ages is the only tree to be out of place and is protected by a large dome barrier from both the extreme heat and dry atmosphere. Just below the tree is a long bench and the only grass patch he can see nearby. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The weather is particularly hot and he summons some wind and uses a cooling spell as they walk along the path to the tree. Lavellan glances at him when she feels the breeze and chuckles. “Hot?” She asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is a little warm. I’ll have to make a trip to the marketplace sometime and find some different robes,” he remarks. She hums in agreement and they enter the barrier. The temperature is much more agreeable under the dome. The smell of ripe fruit and fragrant flowers permeates the area and he sits on the bench. Lavellan sits next to him and glances around the surrounding courtyard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches her as she shifts and the slit in her dress reveals the smooth skin of her thigh. He looks away before she notices his stare. He wants to ask about her family and what Banalras meant. If her family are nobles and if they had fallen out of favor. Is that why she decided to compete in the conclave to become Dirthamen’s champion? To gain favor in the eyes of the court? To separate herself from her family? He doesn’t ask any of that though. He was not actually present for the conversation she had with Banalras...as far as she knows. Instead he asks, “So, why </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> you invite me along today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughs, tucking another stray lock of hair behind her ear before looking at him. “You almost beat me during the duel,” she answers, “I almost lost that fight and that would have been...embarrassing to say the least. You are much stronger in magic than I. Almost a better fighter too. I wanted to...I don’t know, try to figure you out. You’re the most interesting person to come along in a while. I’ve only ever heard stories of the Dreaded Wolf of Mythal’s. Simply put?” She taps her chin before tilting her head. “I was curious.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Curiosity often leads to wisdom. Or so I’ve been told. Have I lived up to the stories?” And he is brimming with his own curiosity at her answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not quite,” she says and snickers when his shoulders sag a little in disappointment. “I've been told you prowl the fade, howling at the moon. A shame that it turns out you’re well spoken and I've not heard you howl since you’ve arrived.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grins at her. “That’s the tamest one I’ve heard so far. Better than the one I heard in Sylaise’s court.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Is that the one where you eat the hearts of all those who oppose justice?” She asks, raising a brow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He winks at her, “That one is true.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughs and the sound reminds him of the bells they use to decorate trees during the winter months. The sound makes him long for a cup of warm apple cider with spices. He swallows at the thought. Dirthamen’s champion has turned out to be everything he expected and nothing like he thought. He thinks of Felassan’s warning and wonders if perhaps he’s made a mistake. What can he learn from Lavellan if she is playing along with the rules of this game the same as him? He is an interloper in her court. What secrets does she keep for Dirthamen and how can he learn them without turning her gaze his way in suspicion? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks away and spots Sulahn and another woman carrying trays and drinks. “It appears our meal has arrived,” he announces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh good, I was beginning to think she had forgotten.” Lavellan uncrosses her legs and stands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride stands as well. He keeps his comment to himself. He doubts the slave would forget, fear is a good motivator, and instead moves forward to intercept the women and help them with the dishes and trays. He greets the women with a smile and they give hesitant smiles back. Thanking them firmly for their help, he takes the trays from them and carefully maneuvers back to the bench. Lavellan looks amused but says nothing when he places the food between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are silent for a good while, enjoying their food and lost in their respective thoughts before Lavellan speaks again. “Ghilan’nain will be arriving some time in the next hour. She’s already stopped at the border to deliver her beasts.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride opens his mouth to ask about the situation at the border or even if Lavellan knows much about Ghilan’nain’s beasts but Lavellan cuts him off. “Dirthamen wishes to speak with you after our meal. That’s the true reason I came to fetch you this morning but since he didn’t specify a time…” she trails off with a shrug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride laughs. “Then it will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>fault if my late arrival is met with punishment,” he accuses with a smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan shrugs again, stabbing into a piece of fruit and popping it into her mouth. He raises a brow at her casual dismissal of the situation. She sighs. “We’ve been everywhere his eyes can follow. He knows why you are late and who’s fault it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you not worried?” He asks, surprised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. He’s likely busy having the palace prepped for Ghilan’nain’s arrival. I imagine Dirthamen will accompany her to the temple she spoke. Which also means I will be leaving soon too. I do not know how long we will be gone but this is probably what he wishes to discuss with you,” she answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride stops chewing for a moment to think this over. Dirthamen would be leaving the palace? Would he have to attend as well or would he be asked to stay here? Which did he prefer? He wants to know what reason Ghilan’nain needs Dirthamen’s temple for but he also remembers he is here to investigate Falon’din’s court in the closest capacity he is able. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will I be remaining here?” He asks her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She glances at him before looking away. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.” She pops another piece of fruit in her mouth with a shrug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a sip of the juice provided before setting his cup down and standing. “Then it’s best I take my leave and find out. If Ghilan’nain will be here within the hour, that does not leave much time for conversation. Thank you for the meal and the company.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan smiles, though she remains sitting, and waves him off. “True enough. I will see you later. If Dirthamen plans for you to stay behind, I don’t know how long we will be gone but perhaps when we return, you and I can share another meal and swap some fighting techniques? I could use the sparring partner,” she suggests. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallows down the inappropriate response that springs to mind and decides it’s safest to nod. “I would like that.” He leaves before she can respond, and does his best to not retreat like a dog with his tail between his legs. There is something about </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>woman that throws him off his usual cool detachment. He half hopes and half dreads that Dirthamen will have him stay behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He no longer trusts which one he prefers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>….</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finds the location of the Lord of Secrets after inquiring about his whereabouts from a passing priest. He is almost caught off guard when the priest he asks turns out to be the man he saw in the library with Lavellan. The priest boasts that Dirthamen had personally asked him to attend a trip to the temple of silence near the coast, Dirthamen’s most sacred of temples, according to Banalras, and that he had just left Dirthamen’s study to pack his traveling bags. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And apparently boast about one’s favor to any stranger passing by. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After thanking the man, Pride continues down the hall taking a left and then a right after deducting that this was the direction of Dirthamen’s wing of the palace. He finds a slave carrying empty dishes out of a door to the left and when the man spots him, he bows and quietly mentions that Dirthamen is waiting for him. Pride thanks him and slips inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen stands near a window that overlooks the courtyard and Pride hides his smile when he realizes the view is directed at the tree of ages where he sees Lavellan still sitting at. She had chosen the location of their meal on purpose. A direct line of sight for Dirthamen, it appears. How clever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’ve been everywhere his eyes can follow, indeed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen turns to greet him, hands behind his back in the same pose Pride himself often adopts and the comparison makes him uncomfortable. “Ah, Dread Wolf. It appears you’ve been galavanting with my champion for half the day,” he says. His voice is devoid of emotion and cold. Pride wonders if Dirthamen had always sounded like that or if it is something the Evanuris adopted over time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I apologize for the delay. I had not known you wanted to speak with me until just a few minutes ago,” Pride informs and decides to mirror Dirthamen’s posture. Hands behind his back, he moves further into the study. The room is dark save the light coming in from the window. It is not outwardly odd in appearance, nothing about the room is too far off what any other scholar or nobleman may have. He can feel a running current of magic that travels into different objects around the room like a book that is open on Dirthamen’s desk and a skull nearby that glows a faint purple. Two ravens with blood red eyes sit in open cages nearby. Occasionally one will caw and it sounds almost human when it does. They must be Fear and Deceit he hears about around the courts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen nods but doesn’t say anything else about it. Pride is just beginning to wonder if he should ask what Dirthamen wanted when the Evanuris walks over to the skull and picks it up. The faint purple glow grows brighter and Dirthamen hums in thought before setting it back down. “Tell me, Wolf, what is a Lord of secrets without a secret to uncover?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An odd start to a conversation but Pride knows Dirthamen to be a man of few words. There is a point the Evanuris is leading to. “What is knowledge if not to be gained? A truth is only true if discovered. A secret is only a secret if it is hidden.” It is an invocation often heard by Dirthamen’s followers, one he knows well enough to recite. The room seems to shift and suddenly the door locks behind him. Pride does not let his nervousness show. There is magic swirling near the skull and Pride watches as Dirthamen swipes a hand over it. The purple glow darkens before fading away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Interesting…” Dirthamen says, “Someone is spying on me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride jerks his attention to Dirthamen in shock. “A listening spell?” He asks. But planted by who? He suspects few would have access to Dirthamen’s study. Fewer still to be powerful enough to cast a listening spell only revealed by invocation magic to the lord of secrets. A spell tied to his own invocation like that is complex and would take years of study and practice. It is on par with the level of skill of an Evanuris or a high leveled priest. He thinks of the conversation he overheard at the library this morning between Lavellan and Banalras. The very same priest he just spoke to who had mentioned leaving Dirthamen’s study. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A complicated spell. Hm, perhaps my trip to the temple of silence is more needed than I had originally thought,” Dirthamen confirms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of that, should I be readying for a trip as well or am I to be staying at court?” Pride asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen stares at the skull before picking it up. He crushes it with a hand of stone and when nothing but broken and crushed bits of bone fall from his hand, Dirthamen looks at him. “If a truth is only true if it is discovered then it is a secret to start. I have a favor to ask of the wolf of justice. I ask what is a God of the Dead in the lands of people who do not die?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride feels a chill run down his back but he only blinks and forces himself not to reach for the fade. “Death is inevitable. It cannot be escaped indefinitely. A God of Death is still a God. Why do you ask?” He did not expect an inquiry on philosophy when he came to Dirthamen’s study. He wonders what Dirthamen is alluding to or if he’s simply playing with Pride to catch him in a lie. Does Dirthamen suspect he is here under orders to spy on Falon’din? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A God of the dead in a land of immortals is a weak God whose only solution is to cause mass slaughter to gain worship and power. My husband is not well,” Dirthamen says and his words are blunt and harsh. It is the most emotion Pride has heard the man convey and he reels in shock at Dirthamen’s open dialogue about the rumors that originally lead Pride here. So Mythal was right to worry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean? He seemed well enough at the dinner last night,” Pride states but he remembers Falon’din’s warning about love being a weakness easily exploited and how off they had seemed at the time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen shakes his head. “War is brewing. Death is on the rise and Falon’din fans the flames to gain power. There are missing slaves in Falon’din’s lands and they are beginning to disappear in </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It will not be long before it spills into the others,” Dirthamen says and Pride thinks this is the most he’s ever heard Dirthamen say. Whatever the situation is, the truth of it in its full extent has left even Dirthamen upset. Mythal was right to send him here and he is beginning to believe that he was sent to Dirthamen’s court because Mythal knew Dirthamen would ask him to intervene. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Evanuris continues, pulling him from his thoughts, “The people are flocking to the Forgotten Clans and it will lead to nothing good. More war, more famine, more unnecessary suffering. You are to stay here. It will not be long before petitioners start seeking asylum at the temples and those beasts of Ghilan’nain’s will only cause more chaos. When they come to court to ask for aid, send a raven to me. Falon’din will likely do nothing. An uprising is the last thing we need. I suspect Mythal will have to become involved soon. In the meantime, find out where my missing slaves are.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride spends a moment in his shock to absorb what he has learned. There is more than just the details of Falon’din’s vanity and madness to go over. Dirthamen has shown a side of him Pride had never thought he’d see. He lets out a breath, looking at the Evanuris in a new light. Dirthamen looks...worried. Concerned. Has it always been there? Has Pride simply overlooked it in his arrogant assumption that all of them save Mythal were too petty and greedy to care for anyone but themselves? He would never consider the lord of secrets to be good but perhaps he has been wrong that the Evanuris of silence is wholly bad. What secrets does Dirthamen keep for reasons Pride has never contemplated before? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will do what I can,” he says, finally, realizing he’s been silent too long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen nods, and then gestures over to Fear and Deceit. “I will leave one of them here. They are loyal to me alone. Should you need to send me a message, find Deceit in your dreams. It will pass the message along. Stay out of Falon’din’s way. Give him no reason to suspect you. Or me. You may be Mythal’s champion but she is not here to save you should you make a mistake. I will not save you either.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride grins. “I will not need saving but very well,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen nods, taking him at his word. It is an uneasy alliance and Pride shifts his weight to another foot like the floor is tilting underneath him. “Ghilan’nain should be here soon if she is not here already. I will take my leave.” He says and Dirthamen waves him to the door in dismissal. Pride turns and leaves before Dirthamen drops some other earth shattering revelation on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has much to think over and he makes his way to his room to contemplate what he has learned and the unlikely source he has learned it from. He wonders what will become of Banalras if his suspicions are correct. Lavellan had accused the priest of using magic not meant for him. Would Dirthamen be pleased at a complex type of spell like a listening one weaved into an invocation or would he be offended by the arrogance and duplicity of spying on the priest's own God? And where are the missing slaves? Is this Falon’din’s doing or something else? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know and for every secret he uncovers, more are waiting to spring up to take their place. Dirthamen is right. Mythal will have to become involved soon enough. Pride does not think he will make much of a difference. He is no match for an Evanuris, not in direct combat, and he is almost certain this is where it will lead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just hopes the People survive the fall out. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It has been five months since Lavellan and Dirthamen have left with Ghilan’nain to the temple of silence. He has grown weary of navigating dead ends of the palace. The slaves are hard to befriend, he does not blame them, fear he knows is what keeps them from speaking too much. He had tried to find Sa’lan, the slave he had overheard Lavellan speaking to at the meeting to find out what he could have of the slave’s missing family but it appears the man was also missing. He leaves the palace for the marketplace searching for new robes more fitting for the temperature. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smell of meat roasting rubbed in spices leaves a tang in the air makes his stomach growl in response. If the Vir Dirthara is set to the calm, quiet tranquility of study and scholarly pursuits, the marketplace is the opposite. The cacophony of noise is loud and full of people. As he makes his way down the busy street, merchants call out to passersby about fruit, dolls, trinkets, spices, and baubles. His eyes are on the tailor stalls, searching among the colorful displays of silk and threads to find one that he finds agreeable but nothing has truly caught his eye thus far. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He supposes he could have had a palace tailor make him some new robes but he rarely gets the opportunity to be out among the People. His duties often kept him in Mythal’s presence or in her temples. He walks among the stalls and uses it to listen in on conversation in hopes of over hearing anything that may lead to something useful. He takes his time, admiring the quality of a gold broach while a merchant discusses the recent shipment delays with his assistant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...said it’d be days before he can reach town. Said the Forgotten Clans have taken control of Falon’din’s borders and the trade routes have to be reworked until the fighting settles down. Don’t know what the issue is...not even sure it’s true.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I heard. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>fights along the borders but Falon’din’s been sending soldiers down and putting down rebellions. No one’s said a thing about the Forgotten Clans being involved. Awfully stupid of them if you ask me. Who’d want to war with the God of Death?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride moves along before he gets caught listening in and chews his lip in thought. From what he understands, both are true. The Forgotten Clans have people flocking under their banner along the borders. A rebellion is on the horizon but Pride wants to know what caused the shift. He thinks it’s related to the disappearing slaves but where are they going and why now? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he maneuvers around a crowd, he feels a hand on his waist, quick and nimble and if not for his constant awareness of his own person, he may not have felt it at all. His hand shoots out and snatches a wrist and when he looks down, he meets the wide frightened eyes of a thin woman with hollowed cheeks and Falon’din’s Vallaslin carved in black. Her blue eyes are already filling with tears, the fight in her not even rallying as he yanks her along the path and into a shadowed alleyway. He is angry but not at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you mad?” He asks, furiously turning to her but not dropping her wrist. She will run the minute he lets her go and he must make her understand how incredibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is to steal in a place like this. She is </span>
  <em>
    <span>lucky </span>
  </em>
  <span>she chose him and not a noble under Falon’din or Dirthamen’s banner. “Do you have any idea what a foolish idea that was?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Several emotions pass over the woman’s face but she settles on shame and it breaks his heart. “Forgive me, sir, I…” Her voice is hoarse and her shoulders slump forward. “I…” Sobs rack her thin shoulders and he sighs and lets go of her wrist. He is shocked when the woman doesn’t flee but instead throws herself in a kneeling position at his feet. “Please. Cut off my hand. Take me to Mythal for judgement. Do what you must but I beg you, take my little girl to safety. They’re coming in the night...they take the children...please! I beseech you, servant of Mythal, take her to safety!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes him a moment to realize the woman is not foolish at all. She had chosen him on purpose. His vallaslin a beacon of hope, he guesses, among the richly clad nobles who’d have killed her immediately. He was no slave but a well dressed servant of Mythal with gold at his waist. Mythal’s benevolence must be far reaching to have reached the ears of the slaves of Falon’din’s lands. He is unsure of what consequences that will bring in the future but for now he latches on to her words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Taking them in the night? What do you mean-“ but he doesn’t finish. He catches sight of slave handlers passing at the other end of the alleyway and quickly urges the woman to stand. “Come with me. Stand up and dry your face. Quickly.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman stands, swiping at her face before taking a breath to choke down the rest of her cries. She does so with swift movements and he watches the change come over in awe. Gone was the woman who’d been begging for her child, in her place stands a quiet slave. He heads toward the opposite end of the alleyway and she follows silently behind him. They move about the crowded marketplace, his eyes sweeping over the stalls in the direction he had just come from. They walk amongst the street and when no one glances their way or calls out for the woman to halt, he slips down another alleyway and toward the poorer area of the district. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is silent behind him the whole way and when they are as alone and away from the crowds of the marketplace as they ever will be, he turns toward her again and takes a moment to assess the area. He spots a tavern down the road and lets out a breath. “We have few options but I could go for a drink. How is your acting?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” She asks, hands clenching at her poor ragged garments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chews his lips and walks a circle around her, an idea forming in his mind. It may not work in the palace but a tavern full of drunks, busy barkeep and tavern maids just might. When he reaches the front of her again, he gestures to the air around her. Hiding someone’s vallaslin is difficult. Whatever magic that the Evanuris and their followers use to mark their slaves is deep and tied to magic even he has not explored. He thinks blood is involved. Mythal’s vallaslin is made the same though the receiving of it is kinder. Only the Gods know how to remove it, if it can be removed at all. He doesn’t know as he has never seen it happen. Something to contemplate later, he supposes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A slave of Falon’din’s and a servant of Mythal’s will draw too much unwanted attention,” he says and begins spinning the energy of the fade around her. The air ripples and her dress to an outside viewer takes on more of subtle wealth rather than the dress that he notes, though ragged, is not the barely more than rags he’s spotted in his time here. “But a servant of Mythal’s and a lady of good fortune may not. I can shape the fade around you to give an appearance of a lady of a minor household. The rest is up to you. I suspect you’ve come from a nobleman’s household. Do you think you can act the part?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I...how did you know where I may have come from?” Her tone is both in awe and suspicious. He chuckles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are more clever than you appear but clearly not a talented thief. Your sentences are not broken. Your voice is clear. Your hands have no dirt underneath the nail. You smell of spices and clean soap despite your unkempt but well stitched dress. You are more brave than just a serving maid and you look me in the eye more often than other slaves. Housekeeper, perhaps? The situation must be dire for you to have left.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It does not bode well what may be happening elsewhere if the nobles own slaves are taking to streets looking for help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They won’t come looking for me yet. I bought myself time with the excuse of needing to pick up a few things at the marketplace. Housekeepers do have some privileges, even the slave ones.” She says, and she tilts her chin up as if she’s proud of this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, a favored one,” he replies, hands lowering as the last of his spell wraps around her. If he moves too close, the illusion will warp but with just enough distance, a foot or two, and the spell holds. He tuts as he begins to put the pieces together. This was no ordinary slave and he is beginning to suspect this was no ordinary trip to the marketplace. “Truly dire then for a nobleman to worry about his slave child. Your acting skills shall suffice. Come. I am most interested in what you have to say.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“T-that’s awfully presumptuous-“ He turns to look at her, eyebrow cocked and her mouth shuts. Whatever else she was going to say is lost behind her scowl but she tips her chin up, throws her shoulders back and lifts the skirt of her dress just a bit to move forward. He chuckles as she sashays her way past him toward the tavern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A bit much,” he says with a laugh and she smiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps, but I’ve known one or two and they were worse,” she replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t doubt it. He follows just a step behind though he would prefer to lead. He is often just ahead of Mythal when they walk, eyes scanning the surrounding area with vigilance and he falls back into that pattern before they reach the door. “Let me lead,” he says and she nods in agreement, stepping to the side to let him enter first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s soft music inside, just enough to be heard over the chatting voices of the crowd. Only a handful of people in the tavern glance their way but none stare too long and as he moves further in, he nods to her to take the stairs and head up to the less crowded area of the tavern. She sniffs and heads around him and up the stairs. The building has mostly young soldiers not in armor and a few ladies mingling about. A game of cards takes up the back corner table. He makes his way to the barkeep to ask for two cups of wine before slipping some gold to the gentleman and heading upstairs himself. He finds her with her back toward the wall in a small secluded table near the back of the tavern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A barmaid comes up behind him with their drinks and he takes them from her and slips her a piece of gold as well. “For the trouble,” he provides at the woman’s astonished face. She nods, understanding his meaning - that he’d like to not be disturbed - before turning and leaving the two of them to themselves. There is no one upstairs with them at the moment but a couple toward the railing and he moves to the table quickly without attracting their notice. Not that he thinks they’ll notice anyone but each other any time soon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hands his company her glass of wine and then takes a seat. He sets his cup down after a sip. Not the best wine he’s had but it will do. “Let’s begin again. Starting with your name. You come from a nobleman’s household, you have a high station in this household - slave though you may be, and you were in the marketplace for more than just errands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand trembles, the first nervous tell he has seen since they left the market and he loosens his stiff posture to help her feel safe enough to speak. “My name is Velani. I serve the house of Maheriel,” she begins, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. “I am...more than just the housekeeper. I am the governess. My speech isn’t an act. I can also read and write. I was taught...by Viras Maheriel himself when I was young. They are not like the nobles you may find vying for power and influence at the palace. I am most fortunate with the place I was born into. At least...so I thought.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He keeps his surprise to himself. Her situation is unique in these lands, perhaps, but not unheard of in others. Namely, Mythal’s. Though had she lived in Mythal’s lands, she wouldn’t be a slave and she certainly wouldn’t have been as thin and hollow cheeked as she is. She may consider herself fortunate and most assuredly compared to others of her position, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she is still a slave and her appearance certainly adds to that assessment. Just how differently she is treated in comparison to others doesn’t matter when her body tells him the same story in different forms. He lets her take another sip and waits for her to continue. Sometimes the best way to get answers out of someone is let them fill the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The nobles from different households occasionally visit. It started about four or five years ago, I suppose. Not the visiting, of course, that’s normal. But the gossip. Slaves have a whole society of their own and so often overlooked and ignored. Of course. Who cares about some slave gossip, yeah? But we do care. Some households…” She trails off, shaking her head in sorrow, “Well, some our much worse than mine. It started as a rumor others had heard. That children were going missing. Just there one day and gone the next. First in the fields. Then in the stables...but well…” Here she shifts uncomfortably in her seat and he thinks he understands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Missing slaves is not unheard of and often it is easiest to assume they were killed. This happens more often in Andruil’s lands. He’s heard enough stories of Andruil’s lust for the hunt and sometimes unruly slaves were her quarry. Other times it’s nobles taking care of it themselves. It makes his blood boil but he keeps this emotion off his face. He nods for her to continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we didn’t think too much of it because of the households, you see? The places they were going missing from weren’t...kind. Most households aren’t. But then...then it happened closer. More were being taken. Sometimes whole families would disappear…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembers the conversation he heard between Lavellan and Sa’lan. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where is your family, Sa’lan? </span>
  </em>
  <span>And now Sa’lan is missing too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trembles in silence for a moment, and a tear tracks it’s way down her cheek. He swallows, offering a hand for her to hold and find strength to continue. He leans forward to catch her attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened, Velani? What’s forced your hand? Are you here because you were sent or because others are not as worried as you feel they should be?” Because he thinks he understands now. Truly understands. A slave is a slave, no matter their treatment. A good household the Maheriel’s may be but they’re still nobles and it is not the nobleman’s children that are going missing. It’s the slaves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>sent...but not by my master. A mother is grieving the absence of her child and I fear mine will be next,” she cries, “Two nights ago, Rena’s little boy was in the gardens just before supper. She says she had turned away for only a moment but when her child’s laughter stopped so abruptly she turned back and he was gone. She ran into the dark and saw only the shadows of men with masks escaping the hedges. She screamed and the guards came but when they searched the grounds, not a trace of the men or her son were found. Master Viras and his wife sent dispatches to neighboring manors inquiring about his whereabouts but no one seems to know a thing about it. M-master Vir-Viras…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes and takes a calming breath that shutters in her lungs and turns her voice harsh when she continues, “He said he can’t spare the men to keep searching for one lone slave child. That it wouldn’t look proper for a nobleman’s house to keep inquiring about a single slave. But Rena is distraught and the rest of us, myself included, are terrified our children will be next. My daughter...my little Lilani, isn’t even old enough to receive her marks. When I saw a servant of Mythal...I...well, even the slaves of a good household know there is refuge to be found there.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She takes another trembling sip of her drink and looks at him pleadingly. “Please...you have to take her. Take her to Mythal’s lands with you. Keep her safe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He frowns, feeling the chains of his bargained time serving Dirthamen sink to the bottom of his stomach and twisting it. What could he do? Smuggling children out of one nobleman’s household would not save the other children from being snatched and how would he do so without drawing attention? There is more to learn, more to this than just missing children and families. Where are they going? Who are the men snatching them and why? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am deeply sorry for what’s happening to you and to Rena and the others. If there was truly something I could do for you, I would, but as it happens I am here to serve my time after a bargain was made. I cannot leave and I do not know how I would even begin to get your child…” He trails off as a thought strikes him. Men in masks...missing children...only slaves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where is the Maheriel household located?” He asks, trying to remember his studies from so long ago but even the name doesn’t ring a bell. He is sure he’s heard the name, as he’s tried to learn the name of every noble house in every land but admittedly he did not find the subject very interesting and often fell asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In Falon’din’s lands. Near the border...why?” She answers, confused with the leap he’s made. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The other households, are they near the border as well?” He asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Why? Is this about the skirmishes? Are the Forgotten Clans snatching our children? For what purpose?” She’s making leaps as well but her conclusions only strengthen his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For what purpose, indeed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And why would a slave travel all the way to </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>this </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>market to seek help? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No ordinary slave, no. Pride chuckles as it finally clicks into place. “You’re not who you say you are. I should have realized…” He leans back in his chair and watches as the woman sputters in faux outrage before blowing out a breath and slumping in her chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What gave me away?” She asks, crossing her legs and shifting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Several things but your location mostly. You came to be here because it’s close to the palace. I suspect if you hadn’t come across me here soon enough, you would have found a way inside the palace next. Why are you looking for a Wolf and what, if any, truth lay in your claims of missing children?” He asks. He’s a bit disappointed to have fallen so quickly for her duplicity but he supposes there must be </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>truth to her tell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After all, the best lies always lay in truth in some fashion. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Not everything I said was a lie. Most of it, in fact, is true. Except it wasn’t two nights ago, it was two months ago. And my name is not Velani. Velani is my sister.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your sister? So who are you?” He asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scowls and leans forward, hand gripping her cup hard enough to turn her fingers white. Her eyes seem to blaze with anger. “Rena.” Her voice is filled with pain and he lets out a breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah…” he says, his eyes dropping to the table, “I see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride lets out a sigh, drinking the last of his wine before leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. “I imagine you’ve been searching for your son for the last two months, then. What led you here?” he asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rena shakes her head, looking lost. “Following rumors has gotten me nowhere. No one wants to talk and those that do lead me astray. Who cares for a slave with a lost child?” Her voice is hoarse, bitter, and heartbroken and Pride feels for her plight. She continues, “Then I heard that Mythal’s Wolf was staying at Dirthamen’s palace. I thought...I don’t know. I thought, perhaps, you would listen. You’d be willing to help.” She looks at him with hope and he feels the weight of her gaze on his shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will do what I can for you but I must ask a favor in return,” he replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything. Please.” She begs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride crosses his arms and catches her gaze, willing her to listen closely. “I want you to return to your house. Discreetly. Get Velani’s daughter and any other child you can and take them to the grove. There is an Eluvian that will lead you there in the east, do you know the place?” He asks. The grove of the dead was Falon’din’s quietest temple but often visited. A few slaves of Falon'din would not be out of place. She nods and he continues his instructions, “I will give you gold to give to the ferryman at the mirror. Tell him the Dread Wolf sent you with a message for a man named Felassan. I will have him meet you there. He will get you and the children to safety but I need your help. I don’t believe you would give up the search for your child and you know these lands far better than I. Stay with Felassan. When the time comes, I will call on you. I will find out where your son is, I swear it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tearfully, she reaches out and presses a hand on his arm. “I will. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she whispers and he smiles kindly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speak to no one about me until you reach the ferryman, do you understand?” He asks. She nods and moves to stand. He leans back and grabs the pouch tied to his waist. He hands it to her, closing her hand around it. “Stay out of sight as best you can. The illusion spell on you will keep for another few days so you must travel as swiftly as you can away from the city. Before you go, tell me, do you remember the first rumor? Which house it came from?” A thought has struck him. A place of origin may narrow the search. He knows the issues at the borders and the missing slaves are related in some way, he just isn’t sure why. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“House Sabrae, closest to the border. Southeast of here, near the mountains,” she says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is what he expected. The issues at the border and the missing slaves were connected. Was it the Forgotten Clans who kidnapped the slaves or was it something else? What purpose did these missing slaves serve? “Thank you. Stay safe, Rena. Until I call,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slips away quietly and he watches her go as she makes her way around the scattered patrons and out the door. He is impressed with her ability to navigate unnoticed and he supposes she is right. Slaves and servants have a society all of their own and they see and hear so much. With that thought in mind, Pride decides to return to the palace. He needs to speak with Felassan and the only way to do so is in the fade. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>….</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he returned to the palace, it was late afternoon. He’d missed midday meal but as he slips into the great hall, it appears he is in time to witness Falon’din holding court. He stays near the back, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The nobles are listening to Falon’din’s story involving an owl and a halla, something Pride knows to be metaphorical about Falon’din and Ghilan’nain themselves though he notes the nobles take it at face value. A shame, as the story implies that Falon’Din and Ghilan’nain tricked a raven into eating poison berries. He wonders who the raven is in the story. A follower of Dirthamen is likely. How...disgustingly callous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The nobles laugh at the Raven’s misfortune and idiocy. They celebrate the craftiness of the Halla and the Owl. Pride innerwardly rolls his eyes. He’s about to leave when the doors burst open and soldiers of Falon’Din’s stroll in. Between them is a man dressed in wealthy looking robes but in poor shape. He is dragged by ropes bounding his wrists. The ropes glow a faint blue, a spell that prevents the use of magic. A cut above his left eye that’s swollen shut drips down his face. His clothes are spotted and muddied. Pride uses the distraction to sink further into the shadows. What poor soul has been captured and for what? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falon’din raises a hand and the soldiers halt before his throne. The gathered crowd whispers amongst themselves and Pride leans in to catch the words of the two nobles gossiping in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that Lord Revan Sabrae?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Surely not!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh, lower your voice. It’s him, I’m sure of it. I remember the ring on his finger. It was a gift from his wife. See?” The woman discreetly points at the man’s hand and Pride follows the direction and catches a glimpse of a gold ring with an opal the color of fire - jewelry that symbolizes someone’s wealth. House Sabrae is the house Rena had mentioned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think this has to do with-” The gossipers are interrupted when Falon’din calls for silence from the crowd. Pride moves quietly to the right to get a better view. He watches as Falon’Din stands, walking slowly down the steps from his throne, grinning at the sight of his soldiers and the beaten ragged looking man in their midsts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is this? Have you brought me my traitorous lord at last?” Falon’din asks, stepping further forward to tut at the man. “We’ve been searching for you, Revan Sabrae, for quite some time.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride glances at the man, who now trembles in his bonds as he tries to back up. The soldier behind him shoves Revan forward and he stumbles and falls to his knees. Falon’din laughs, bending down to look the man in the eye. Lord Revan scowls, leaning away, and Falon’din strikes so quickly that Pride almost misses it. Revan gasps, head jerking to the left, as blood spurts from his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s for making me wait. Now, tell me, where have you been hiding?” Falon’din asks, glancing at the gathered men in the black uniforms and red vallaslin that adorn their stern looking faces. The one holding the ropes steps forward to speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We found him hiding in a nest of roaches taking refuge in a Forgotten safe house,” he says and then grins, “The rest of the traitors didn’t survive the ambush.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride narrows his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Forgotten safe house? Did Lord Revan align himself with the Forgotten Clans?...But why? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Turned from your Gods, did you? A pity,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grasps Revan’s hair, pulling his head back, “Tell me where your wife and daughter are and perhaps I’ll show you mercy,” Falon’Din bargains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride sincerely doubts that Falon’Din is even capable of mercy but he seems to have grown more power hungry than Pride remembers. For a Lord of the house to have committed treason against a would-be God, Pride wonders what has pushed the man to this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lord Revan snarls despite the position he’s in. “Did you show my son mercy before you tortured him and slit his throat?” Lord Revan asks, spitting blood in Falon’Din’s face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falon’Din laughs, ignoring the blood dripping down his face, and shows his teeth before yanking on Revan’s hair, pulling at him to the point of almost breaking his neck, “I don’t need to torture you for information. We’ll find the rest of your family soon enough. Your son was a traitor and it turns out, he learned it from you,” he says before jerking his hand to the left. There’s a loud crack and Lord Revan slumps forward. Falon’Din stands and a slave rushes forward with a cloth for his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd murmurs around him, some backing away from Falon’Din as if just now remembering that there is a viper in the room that’s posing to strike at any moment. Pride moves further away, keeping himself hidden amongst the crowd. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falon’Din wipes his face and gives the cloth back to the slave before pointing at the soldier holding the rope. “Take his body and hang him outside his own gates. Then kill any one left in his house and hang their bodies as well. Let him be a reminder to the rest of these rebellious filth what happens when they cross me. Burn his home. Burn them all. Let his name be forgotten,” he orders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His soldiers bow and begin dragging the man’s body away. Pride uses the moment to slip outside and head for his room. He keeps his pace slow and steady in an attempt to organize his racing thoughts. He won’t have time to warn them. He can’t save them all. That’s what he’s trying to tell himself but each step feels like failure. Like helplessness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has to try anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>…..</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spends his time waiting for night to come pacing back and forth in his borrowed room. He’s already shed his robes, the heat almost oppressive even with the magic that floats like air through the palace. His thoughts bounce between Rena and the missing children and Lord Sabrae and his house. The two must be connected but he still feels like he is missing something important. Some piece of information that’s crucial in connecting the events. If Lord Sabrae and his house have turned to the Forgotten Clans, and the missing children are disappearing along the borders then the war with the Forgotten Clans is involved. But what does Falon’Din gain from it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know. Not without finding out more and to do so, he needs to travel to the border. To do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he needs Dirthamen. His loyalty is to Mythal but a bargain was made. He has to honor it. He has such little time to warn House Sabrae and whoever is left inside that they are in danger and he doubts this is something Dirthamen would trouble himself about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But if they are connected with the missing slaves, is he not honoring Dirthamen’s request? Perhaps he can convince Dirthamen to let him travel to the border and find his lead. All rivers of blood lead in that direction. The best way to discover a secret is by following leads. He undresses out of his uncomfortable robes and lays down in bed. He tries to sooth his thoughts so he can fall asleep. First he’ll find Deceit and send a message to Dirthamen. Then he’ll find Felassan and send him to the grove of the dead to meet with Rena. So many paths to take and only a night to do it in. He lets out a breath and relaxes into bed, already exhausted at the thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s still hours yet before he finally feels the tug of sleep pulling him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He finds himself in Dirthamen’s private garden though the paths keep changing as he strolls. He has not been here in the waking world but somehow his wanderings in his dreams brought him here. It was interesting to note that Dirthamen’s private garden was a maze who’s path continued to block and move him as if herding him toward the center. He follows, knowing whatever awaits him is surely the answer he seeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fade is much easier for him to traverse. Perhaps it was because he was born to it, where his spirit was conjured as the Pride of the People amassed and manifested after every triumph. Whatever the case, it is easier for him than others to keep his thoughts to himself even here where thoughts form and conjure memories and concepts into tangible forms. He loves it here. He is more at peace here than anywhere in the waking world but his obligations keep him grounded. Keeps his thoughts bubbled in his head as his steps down another row of hedges that shift and pull him to the right and then the left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least, that’s the usual case. Tonight, however, he seems to catch sultry laughs and tan skin at every turn. Long flowing black hair that catches on the bushes and his mind is filled with the smell of jasmine. Each time she is gone before he can turn the corner. His mind is filled with thoughts of Lavellan. Something he knows cannot be true as she is not here but perhaps, he has found her in his fade wanderings? It would not be so unusual. He suspects though she was not spirit born as she comes from a noble house, Dirthamen would not choose a Champion who could not roam the fade with purpose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He calls out to her but she eludes him and he can feel the wolf in him brush against his bones. A hunt is afoot and he quickens his steps. He follows the scent of jasmine on the breeze and the laughter that sounds like bells. He takes a left and his gaze catches the sight of bronze skin and trailing curls of black hair just as she turns another corner. Confused, he races forward and turns only to be met with another long stretch of hedges that tower over his head. The end branches in two directions and when he gets to the end, he hesitates. He searches the air for her scent but it’s gone. It is quiet, no sound of rustling bushes or laughter just out of reach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands there at the crossroads. Which way would she go? Right or left? He doesn’t know. Lavellan is unpredictable, a mystery to him and try as he might, he cannot seem to shake the urge to solve her. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>To gain wisdom is to seek it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> On a whim, he takes a left, following along the quiet rows of bushes and the occasional bench left for weary maze walkers. There is only a right turn at the end of the maze so he takes it and is met with a solid wall. This one is brick and not bush and he stops, frustrated and defeated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where did she go? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wonders and his thoughts are heavy and gravelly in his mind. His Wolf is close to the surface and uses the moment to lean against the wall and take a breath. Except when he does, he moves </span>
  <em>
    <span>through </span>
  </em>
  <span>it and stumbles to the other side before catching himself. He jerks to a halt and glances up to find the center of the maze. There is a large pool of shallow water filled with lily pads and brightly colored fish. On either side are golden benches and palm trees. Pillars made of stone lead to an Eluvian at the center, though the Eluvian’s surface is too murky to see where it leads. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moves closer and as he does, a figure steps out of the mirror. At first he thinks it’s Lavellan. He walks forward and when the figure finally fully emerges, he opens his mouth to greet her but closes it again before saying a word. This is not Lavellan. He knows it though his eyes find nothing about the woman in front of him different from the clever and enchanting woman of the waking world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One is white, completely milky like Ghilan’nain’s and the other is pitch black with just a hint of dark red at the centers where the pupil should be. She smiles, and steps forward and instinctively he takes a step back. She laughs and instead of the bell-like sound Lavellan has, it is deeper and sounds like two people at once. Her hair, he notices now is not the soft black with hints and shades of red but a dark blue tinted like that of a raven. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah...I have been deceived. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It clicks finally and he chuckles. “I should have known,” he says and the spirit drifts closer with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes out her hair and he watches as a gust of wind and sickly green light washes over the woman. Her features shift, dark feathers spring from one arm and white feathers from the other. The ends of her fingers become talons, sharp and deadly. Half of her hair remains black but the other half turns as white as Ghilan’nain’s to match the eye on her left. The black eye stays to match the darker half. Pale skin replaces one half and the armor shifts from blue to black on the right and white on the left. It is like looking at two different women merged into one body. One light and fair, the other sharp and dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In deceit, I often find it soft and warm. Easy to the eye. In truth, I often find it painful and sharp. Like a knife to the heart. Which will you be tonight?” Pride asks, moving closer now that he knows he has found what he sought after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ignores the wolf’s dissatisfied growl in his head at being deceived by a creature who chose the form of Lavellan. There is something in the choice that makes him uneasy and he pushes the thought away and soothes his beast with promises of satisfying hunt in the future. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is often truth in lies and lies in truth. I cannot be one without the other,” the spirit replies, “Do I speak truly? What says the spirit of Pride?” The spirit asks, dual tones in their voice somehow harmonious. One a whisper, soft and sweet, the other a shout, loud and piercing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am not here for riddles or games. I have a message for Dirthamen. Will you take it to him?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spirit answers in its dueling voices a firm yes and a soft no. He sighs and crosses his arms. He narrows his eyes, content to wait the spirit out though he knows he doesn’t actually have the time. He is needed elsewhere and only has the night to finish with this spirit and cross back to Mythal’s lands to get a message to Felassan all before he wakes. Usually, he likes talking to spirits. It is not as difficult to talk to them than the elves of the waking world and often there is something to be learned. If this was a different night, and he did not have obligations, he would speak to Deceit and engage in a game of truth and lies. To test his mettle against a spirit who’s wits he may match. Or not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he does not have the time tonight. “Time is of the essence. Dirthamen asked me to find his leads and report, did he not? Tell your master I believe I know where the missing slaves may be but I must leave and investigate further to be sure. His husband saw fit to execute Lord Sabrae and send soldiers to his house to burn it and the slaves inside. I need Dirthamen’s leave to go so I can find out why. Will you take the message to him?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You cannot interfere with Falon’Din’s issues with his traitorous houses. Dirthamen has no sway over how Falon’Din runs his court of bones anymore than Falon’Din has sway over Dirthamen’s court of whispers. Dirthamen will not grant his leave.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He isn’t sure if that is a truth or a lie but he doesn’t care. “The two are connected in some way. I know they must be but I do not see how. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>be closer to learn more. Take the message to Dirthamen and let him decide. I will await his answer before I leave, if that will satisfy you,” he proposes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spirit is still for a moment before nodding. “I will take your message. On one condition,” The spirit says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride forcibly controls the urge to roll his eyes. It is a near thing. He doesn’t know how much time he has left until the sun rises and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>get his message to Felassan before he wakes. Worse still, his barriers are beginning to weaken and it is difficult to maintain his thoughts from drifting to truths he’d rather not share. Deceit is powerful. Once it was part of something much larger. Desire. Choice. Fear. Deceit. Perhaps even Pride. When they split into different forms, they had different names. Imshael. Xebenkeck. Gaxkang. The Formless one. Only Fear and Deceit stayed as they were. When the war with the Old Ones began and they refused to help, Mythal and Elgar’nan had banished them to the deepest parts of the fade. Only Deceit and Fear answered the call and only for Dirthamen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What condition?” He asks, feeling the tug at the back of his mind to answer a question the spirit hadn’t posed. He uses the moment to deflect by conjuring truths he is willing to share. He is Mythal’s servant. He is here asking permission to leave. His name is Pride but some call him the Dread Wolf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me two truths and a lie, Pride, and I will deliver your message,” the spirit purposes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, Pride should have known that he would not leave this conversation without engaging the spirit in its ultimate purpose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What is knowledge if not to be gained? A truth is only true if discovered. A secret is only a secret if it is hidden.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When I was younger, I once traveled to see the prisons Mythal keeps the Old Ones in. I saw many things. Golden cages. Spiders larger than halla. And glowing blue lines in the stone. I did not stay long because I could hear singing and I did not like the song. I hurt my foot on the way out because it was too dark to see. Wisdom was waiting for me on the other side,” he confesses and then smirks, “Now tell me, Deceit, which is the lie?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spirit hummed, repeating the story over before laughing. It’s dual voices ringing around the open space between them. “You did not hurt your foot on the way out,” Deceit answers, confident in its reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not correct, I did hurt my foot. Now will you deliver my message to Dirthamen?” He asks, crossing his arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spirit scowls, moving forward and flicking its wings at Pride with force but Pride doesn’t move and only raises a brow. “You are lying! I can sense the lie in that line!” The spirit shrieks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride laughs. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>lying. But not about my foot. I have a scar to prove it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spirit hisses, circling him and repeating the story over and over. It’s voices waver in frustration, feathers puffing out wider in its fury. “What is the lie? What is the lie?” The spirit crows in fury. “You are lying! What is the lie?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride watches, feeling triumph before letting out a sigh. “I didn’t hurt my foot because it was too dark to see. I hurt it because I was too drunk. I had been challenged to a drinking game with one of Elgar’nan’s soldiers before I got curious enough to investigate the prisons. I barely remember any of it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spirit calms before nodding. “Yes, yes. You are telling the truth. I see. Very well. I will deliver your message. As a reward.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride lets out a sigh. “Thank you,” he says. He does not know if the spirit is telling the truth or not but he will not wait more than a day for an answer from Dirthamen. Consequences be damned. The spirit circles Pride and he pushes up his barriers again to keep from sprouting things he shouldn’t. “Why did you choose her form?” He asks, and then curses himself for the breach. He hadn’t meant to ask that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spirit pauses, cocking its head at him before grinning. “When I was something else, something bigger, I learned that desire often came hand in hand with lying. The biggest lies to be told were those who lied to themselves,” the spirit says before bowing to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride frowns and backs away when light cascades down on the spirit and in another wash of green light, a raven appears. It flaps its wings and takes to the sky. He can hear sultry laughter and a wisp of jasmine on the breeze before it’s gone. He waits, and slowly the maze begins to shift and disappear. It isn’t long before he’s back in the palace. Concerned, he glances around but there is no one there and the urge to sprout truths is gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hopes Deceit delivers the message but he can wait no longer. He is running out of time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>……</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets his beast free as he races through the paths of the fade. The stones and grass, formed by memory and magic alone, continues shifting and moving beneath his paws as he races by spirits and fade-walkers alike. His mind is filled with one memory of a statue, tied both to the fade and waking world alike for weary travelers to find. It is where he and Felassan had planned to meet during his time in Dirthamen’s court. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The easiest pull through the fade as he shifts from one area to the next is the repeated mantra he and faithful Mythal servants often invoke. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We few who travel far, call to me, and I will come. Without mercy. Without fear. Cry havoc in the moonlight, let the fire of vengeance burn, the cause is clear. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The invocation is woven into the altar for Mythal and repeating it in his mind allows the steps to form for him as he travels through various ever-changing terrain. A guide to her lands and her domain. It sifts through his blood, pulling him along and quicken his steps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time is different in the fade, he could have been running all night or only a few minutes but before he knows it, he enters a clearing with mosaic tiling and statues of Mythal’s dragon form and his own wolf carving. He is surprised but grateful to see Felassan leaning against Pride’s statue, glaring at him. Pride shifts back to his elf form, his beast whining to linger that goes ignored, and grins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have to yank so hard. The first pull was enough,” Felassan grumbles, pushing himself away from the statue and crossing his arms. “I can’t imagine Mythal being pleased that you used her invocation to pull rank. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>that across the distance between here and Dirthamen’s lands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My apologies. I haven’t had the need to race across a great distance in a single night in quite awhile and it was the only tether I could think of that would catch your attention and anchor me through the fade in a timely manner. Tell Mythal I’m sorry,” he says in a rush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan sighs, his arms falling from their crossed position. “What’s going on? You haven’t checked in in months and then yank me like a dog through the fade. Something must have happened.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride nods, his body sagging in exhaustion. He can feel it even here in the dreaming. “I have little time. I don’t know how close to morning it is and we have much to discuss. Sit. I’ll make this quick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sit on the stone steps that lead to the altar and Pride goes over everything he’s learned since he left. When he reaches the end, he stands and paces. “Likely Rena will reach the grove in a day or two, perhaps longer as she is traveling on foot. I need you there to lead her and whoever else she’s able to bring with her to safety as discreetly as you can. Then you and Rena will have to make your way to House Sabrae as quickly as you are able,” he stops there to check that Felassan is listening. Felassan looks uncharacteristically serious and satisfied, Pride continues, “You will meet me there but stay out of sight. If all goes well, I will find a way to liberate the slaves of House Sabrae before they slaughter them all. In the event that I fail...get back to Mythal’s lands as quickly as you can.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan nods, standing and placing a hand on Pride’s shoulder. “You won’t fail and I won’t fail you. I’ll see you in a couple days. Stay safe. I will inform Mythal and then head for the grove,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride smiles. “Thank you, friend. I will see you soon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan laughs. “Try not to pick up any more strays before then,” he replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Pride can comment back, Felassan disappears. It isn’t long before he feels the pull of the waking world himself. He wakes up back in the guest room feeling like he hasn’t slept at all. His body is sore, a consequence of traveling through the fade so quickly. He sits up and rubs his eyes. Groggily, he slides out of bed and just as he rises, he stops, feeling a presence lurking across the room. He reaches for the knife he keeps near his bedside, throwing up a shield in haste. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That won’t be necessary,” a voice says. He whips his head toward the voice and Lavellan steps out of the shadows. “You are a very heavy sleeper, Wolf,” she says, smirking at his narrowed eyes and angry frown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you get in here?” He asks as he sits back down on the bed and pulls the blanket over his mostly naked body. Lavellan watches the movement and smirks. She drifts closer and he can see she’s dressed in her armor. Knives and leather and straps. He catches the scent of jasmine and his eyes jerk to hers but he can see they are violet and there is no pull at his mind like when he’d been with Deceit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn't you like to know,” she says, her voice soft and seductive and when she reaches his side of the bed, he can’t decide if he wants to lean closer or move away. He stays still in indecision as she bends down to pick up the knife at his bedside table. She twirls it in her hand and then looks at him with lowered lashes and half smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat, his eyes staying firmly on her face and not at her throat which is bare except the mark he can see peeking out just above her collar bone. “What are you doing here?” He asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs, standing and moving away and he fights the feeling of loss when she moves back toward the door. Confusion and uneasiness wars with his desire, no longer buried thanks to Deceit’s last remark, as he waits for her answer. He doesn’t like that she still has his knife but his barrier is still up and he needs no weapon. He lost their fight on purpose after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dirthamen sent me. In the middle of the night, might I add. We have little time. Get dressed and meet me in the kitchens. Pack what you need. We leave in an hour.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He packs swiftly after dressing. He opts for easier clothing instead of the heavier robes and sentinel armor he would normally travel in. He has not forgotten who’s lands he is in and who he may face. Better to not be a beacon for trouble if one is dressed in humble garb. The likelihood of running into the Forgotten Clans is high. He’d stand out like a sore thumb in his golden armor. He does, however, hesitate over the Wolf pelt he often wears but ultimately decides to leave it. Too recognizable. A fighting staff, knives, and a bedroll are added to his traveling pack and he feels ready to go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leaves the room, throwing up a locking charm on the room though he doubts anyone would care to go through his things. There is nothing truly worth their time. Nothing personal save for the Wolf pelt and armor and that could be replaced. He is smart enough to know to not leave incriminating evidence to his endeavors at this court lying around. Mentally shrugging, he turns away and heads to the kitchens. As he walks, he notes that it is still dark outside. There is not a soul out in the dark hallways of Dirthamen’s palace but he keeps his tread quiet and his eyes peeled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he arrives at the kitchens, he is shocked to see Lavellan sitting on the chopping table laughing and speaking to the cook in low tones. He can’t make out what they are saying from this distance. She has not yet noticed his arrival and he uses the moment to study her in this setting. Her legs dangle off the edge and swing back and forth in lazy patterns. Her cheeks are puffed out as she chews on some bread and there is a light in her eyes he does not often see. The cook swats at her hand when she goes to reach for more bread and she yanks her hand away and glares. It takes her a moment to finish and swallow her food before she jumps down from the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is the most free he’s ever seen her and his confusion doubles. She has shown moments he has noted in his time spent here that she knows names of the slaves who work in the palace. He had thought perhaps she knew them because it was her job to know and that is probably true. But this was different. She was laughing, moving around the kitchen packing food and cooking utensils as she went as if she spent time here. The cook, a woman with frazzled hair who he suspects had been woken to cook at some point or was just starting her morning prep, tuts at Lavellan and smacks her hand away with no fear in her eyes. There is a shared camaraderie between the two. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He drifts closer in hopes of hearing their conversation but he must have moved too quickly because Lavellan spots him. He watches, in disappointment, as her movements in the kitchen shift from carefree and open to a swagger. She sends him a grin, one he notices does not meet her eyes, his way. The cook immediately falls silent, her hands returning to her morning prep. He clears his throat and moves in closer to the light and the heat of the oven. The kitchen smells of freshly baked bread and whatever savory meal that bubbles on the stove. He tries to cover his disappointment in a polite smile and greeting. The cook only nods back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan swings the bag of food over her shoulder and walks toward him. “All packed?” She asks, glancing briefly at his pack before moving around him to exit the kitchen. “We should hurry. Don’t speak, stay as silent as you can. I don’t want to alert the whole palace of our intentions,” she says. Her voice is neutral, as if he hadn’t just caught her laughing and speaking freely with the kitchen slave. He glances at the slave in question but the cook doesn’t look their way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about Ghalan. She’s good at keeping secrets,” Lavellan says when she notices his gaze. A hint of humor returns to her tone and he nods and follows behind her when she turns and walks away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He adjusts his pack and keeps silent as they wander through the halls. The path they take is not to the direction he first arrived at the palace. He wants to ask her questions. Where exactly were they going? What did Dirthamen say and why did he send her? He had meant to take this trip alone and her presence already has him reworking his original plan. He cannot hide Felassan and Rena’s involvement from her should she come with. He chews his lip in thought as he walks quietly behind her. He hopes a plan comes to him as they make their way through silent corridors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She must have left immediately upon being woken to have gotten here so quickly. The moon is the only light outside of the veilfire torches and the occasional spirit that drifts along the outside courtyard they traverse through. Her footsteps are light, her pace swift and he lets his beast slip just a bit as he steps behind her. They enter a hallway he recognizes as Dirthamen’s wing and his eyebrows shoot up in curiosity. Was she leading him to Dirthamen’s study? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few quick turns later and he has his answer. She raises her hand to the door and whispers a soft oath to Dirthamen. The door clicks open silently and they slip inside. He is burning with questions but when she meets his gaze in the dark, the only glow coming from the occasional magical item floating around Dirthamen’s study, she brings a finger to her lips. He swallows them down and follows as she leads them to a door he hadn’t noticed the last time he’d been in here. A wave of her hand and another quiet oath, and this door slides open. A shimmer on the other side tells them there is a hidden Eluvian in this room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They step into the room and she shuts the door behind them. The soft glow of the Eluvian is their only source of light and the room is tiny. Just large enough to fit the Eluvian and two people through. He feels a pulse behind him and glances back to see a purple barrier shimmer into place. Lavellan glances at him and smiles. “I can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>see </span>
  </em>
  <span>the questions brimming behind your eyes, Wolf. Just a little longer, I promise.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets out a sigh, adjusting the strap digging into his shoulder. “Where are we going?” He asks. He keeps the rest of the questions at the back of his mind for the time being. He will get answers once he feels it is safer to talk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To the lowerlands and then from there, to the border between Dirthamen and Falon’din’s lands. As you know, there are no eluvians near the lowerlands that are accessible. To close to the Forgotten Clans. We will have to travel by foot once we get there.” She answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And where exactly is there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles against the dark, her hand reaching for his. He tenses when she takes his hand and jerks forward as she pulls him through the mirror. Her touch is soft and light but her grip is surprisingly strong. He lets her lead him through the crossroads and tries not to be too disappointed when she lets go to move forward. He mentally rolls his eyes at himself. He has had many lovers in the past and Lavellan is not a lover. She is barely an acquaintance at best, an enemy at worst. Why does he feel so drawn to her? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did not answer my question,” he remarks as they step along the pathways. She turns her head to look at him without slowing her pace and laughs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where is your sense of adventure?” She asks, stopping and turning toward him. She steps into his space and he jerks to a halt before he bumps into her. She leans closer, her lashes lowering to fan across her violet gaze and his breath comes out a long gust at the proximity. “What’s wrong with not knowing? A secret is only a secret if it is hidden.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckles. “Secrets are meant to be learned or they are of no use. You say we are going to the lowerlands. Near the borders. Where?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She puffs out a breath and pulls away to keep walking forward. Her swagger leaves her and the tense pricking in his shoulder eases the more the space between them widens. He reminds himself that he is here for a reason and Lavellan, for all her swagger, is like him in a lot of ways. She is using her femininity to push him off balance. A defense mechanism she relies on. He knows it for what it is now, after seeing her in the kitchens. He is ashamed to admit that knowing does nothing to prevent him from falling for it anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“House Lavellan,” she finally says. Her tone is short, the amusement and lilt in her voice is gone. Her tone is cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He almost stops walking. “Oh?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her home? </span>
  </em>
  <span>This he did not expect. “I didn’t know your family lived in the lowerlands.” He can’t see her face, her head is facing away from him but he can see the tightness in her shoulders at the word family and he wants to ask about it but he doesn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a summer home and we hardly visit it anymore. There’s a handful of slave caretakers and a few cousins who keep the manor clean of cobwebs. We will use the Eluvian to gain passage to the lowerlands. We won’t be there long,” she explains and he nods though she can’t see him. “Do not speak to anyone. Let me talk for us. The less people know what we are doing, the better. You already draw too much attention. Humble disguise or not, Wolf, you are a champion of Mythal and I can see it in every confident step you take.” She turns to look at him briefly to give him a smile. “It is charming how often your eyes observe Dirthamen’s court with the air of slight disgust. Just how different </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mythal’s court of dreams?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you mean,” he replies, “Dirthamen’s court is different, I suppose, but also much the same. Except the slaves. Mythal has servants, yes, but they are paid. Her servants are treated with kindness.” He tries to keep the anger from his voice. It is not his place to speak on how a court is run and if he is not careful, his words could dip too close to treasonous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hums but doesn’t comment and they fall back into silence with only their footfalls making sound. It is a while before they reach the Eluvian they need. He observes the occasional spirit or elf noble they pass but most are in hurry and pay them no mind. Mostly, they are alone and after another few steps, he decides to ask about Dirthamen. “Why did Dirthamen send you?” He doesn’t mean for the question to come out quite so rude. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slows her pace to match his and soon they are walking side by side. “This is a delicate situation. Dirthamen has been getting reports from temples near his own borders. Fleeing villagers. A roaming beast. Panic and mayhem following in its wake. Then, there’s the missing slaves. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>the trouble with the Forgotten Clans and rebellious lords,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Pride follows the movement before looking away, “Dirthamen and Falon’Din have a shared court. He must be careful with his dealings with Falon’din and his lands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dirthamen must send someone on his behalf to deal with the Forgotten Clans and rebellious lords. Someone who would treaty with them and put down any rebellious Houses,” he deduces and she nods, though she doesn’t look at him, “So he sent you. But what of the missing slaves?” He asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Likely the two are related but my purpose here is to deal with the nobles and the Forgotten Clans. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your </span>
  </em>
  <span>purpose here is to find the missing slaves and to deal with the beast,” she informs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hums. “Then we are to separate when we reach the border?” He asks. His plans could still work if he, Felassan, and Rena are careful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she says. He wants to ask more but they arrive at another Eluvian and she turns to him. “When we arrive at my family’s summer estate, I would like it if we made the time there quick. It is a day and a half journey from the estate to the border. Once we get there, House Sabrae will likely be burned. We may be able to save some of the slaves for questioning but we cannot interfere too much in Falon’din’s affairs with his Houses. Do you understand?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>His stomach roils, anger burning at</span> <span>his chest. His mouth thins. “Those slaves are innocent. Caught between loyalty to their masters and loyalty to their Lord of the Dead. To slaughter them for no other crime save their </span><em><span>presence</span></em><span>…” His Wolf felt like it was trying to claw its way out. He steps forward, his jaw tight and his fist clenched.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan pushes up against his chest, they are nearly nose to nose. Her eyes narrow and she bares her teeth at him. He snags the hand she uses to reach for her dagger and she hisses, “This is </span>
  <b>
    <em>not your Court</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>These are </span>
  <b>
    <em>not </em>
  </b>
  <span>Mythal’s</span>
</p><p>
  <span>lands. I understand your anger</span>
  <em>
    <span>, Dread Wolf, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but to interfere is to start a </span>
  <b>
    <em>war </em>
  </b>
  <span>between your Evanuris and Falon’din with </span>
  <b>
    <em>my </em>
  </b>
  <span>Evanuris caught in between.” She moves back and yanks her hand away from his. “Dirthamen is already involved when he did not want to be nor does he need to be. You are here as a courtesy but you </span>
  <b>
    <em>will not </em>
  </b>
  <span>interfere.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He breaths out, trying to calm the Wolf scratching along his mind and howling in rage. She’s right, though he loathes to admit it at this moment. One wrong step on his part and risks pitting Mythal herself against Falon’din. It puts Dirthamen in a very precarious position should his own involvement were to show which way his loyalty balances. Dirthamen is concerned only with Falon’din’s path and his own lands. Not with a handful of slaves in rebellious houses. It infuriates Pride to know that few care but in truth, it is not what he is here for. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lead the way, then,” he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan hesitates, her eyes conveying two different emotions that seem to war within her. They soften just slightly and she relaxes her stance. He relaxes his own. “I...I will do what I can but I cannot promise anything,” she offers and the tightness in his chest loosens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In truth, he knows there is nothing she can do. That she offered at all, though, allows him to ease his position. “Thank you,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods and then turns back toward the Eluvian. She squares her shoulders, raising a hand and placing it on the mirror’s gilded frame. “May you learn,” she whispers before stepping through. He pauses for a moment, thinking over his options. He could try to hurry Felassan and Rena. Perhaps there is a quicker path from the grove to House Sabrae. He doesn’t know. Shaking his head, he breaths out and steps through the mirror. He hopes he can find a way in time to save who he can but he simply doesn’t know how. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he is desperately running out of time. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He steps out into a cellar. The air is much cooler in here than any part of the palace, or even the crossroads, and he can almost see his breath mist up in the darkness. He can just make out Lavellan’s outline a few feet ahead of him. The quiet is interrupted briefly by the sound of footsteps a floor above them. Lavellan says nothing as he moves in further. The light the mirror provided dims and disappears as the passage behind them closes. He reaches out, confused by her silence, and places a hand on her shoulder. She is tense underneath him and the touch makes her jump beneath his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” He asks, his voice just barely above a whisper. His hand slips away from her shoulder when she turns toward him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A light blooms in the dark. A gathering of wisps just above them illuminates the cellar room and he can see storage barrels and dusty wine bottles shelved along the walls. Lavellan swallows, her eyes looking troubled, and nods at him. He knows that time is of the essence but he has never seen her look less confident. She looks vulnerable in the dark and his chest tightens when he catches a glittering tear just beginning to brim at the corner of her eye. He leans closer, his hand moving of its own accord to swipe gently at her cheek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” He asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is rewarded with a sniff and then a wet sounding chuckle that sounds as fragile as glass. “I apologize. I hadn’t thought…” She begins, then clears her throat. He catches her sigh and then she straightens her posture, her shoulders squaring as if she just now realizes that she isn’t alone and that he is likely the last person she wants to see her like this. “Nevermind. It’s just been an age since I’ve been here, is all. I was feeling nostalgic.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughs, shrugging, and suddenly she is back to herself. Like a bucket of cold water dumped on one’s head, the moment is gone and she turns and steps away from him. His hands feel empty and his chest is still tight as she moves away. He tries to piece together what he knows of Lavellan and her family as they move through the cellar toward the stairs. He doesn’t know much of her or her family other than the little bits and pieces he’s picked up at Dirthamen’s palace. Her family must have fallen out of favor with the court at some point and later, Lavellan becomes Dirthamen’s champion. Is it to gain back her family’s standing? Is it to separate herself from them? He doesn’t know but he finds he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reach the stairs and Lavellan pauses for only a moment before climbing them. He follows behind silently like she asked him to. He does not know what to expect. Will her cousins be happy to see her? Will they scorn her? What will they think of her and him arriving in such an unorthodox way? They hadn’t come to the front door but crept quietly up from the cellar through an Eluvian obviously only meant for the family themselves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Another interesting piece to this puzzle, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he notes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>There are few noble families allowed their own Eluvian in their home. Lavellan’s family’s favor must have been quite high in standing to have gained such an honor from their Evanuris. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So what had changed? His mind burns with curiosity as they ascend the stairs and step through a doorway. The hallway stretches both left and right. Windows shed light from the morning sunrise through open curtains. A breeze and the smell of jasmine and clove waft through the open space and he can hear Lavellan take a soft breath. Her shoulders relax under the familiarity of her surroundings and he stays as quiet as a mouse in hopes of not disturbing her from this moment. The cascade of emotions he can see in just her body language is fascinating to watch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment ends too soon for his liking at the sound of laughter and children stomping through the house at the end of the hallway. Lavellan’s guard is up again but he can read the anticipation in her violet eyes as they jerk to the left. He grips the strap from his pack as they turn in sync toward the end of the hallway. Two children come rushing in. He can see excitement and jubilant fervor that only the youth can aspire. How rare it is to see children so young. They could not be older than 70 or 80 years old and as their eyes light on Lavellan and him standing in the hallway, one shrieks and races forward quicker than the other while calling a greeting. “Aunty!” Before small tan limbs and shining curly black hair come barreling into her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other child is more cautious, her pace slowing and equal parts curiosity and wariness show in her violet eyes. She looks like a much younger version of Lavellan herself save for the slightly rounder nose of the child and lack of vallaslin. Her skin is just a shade lighter, as if the child does not step into the sun as often either. Her little hands clutch at her dress as she moves forward. Her eyes dart from Lavellan to Pride and back again, as if trying to decide which is the safer of the two. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride’s attention moves from the child at the end of the hall to the child clinging to his aunt’s legs. The boy’s mouth is moving but he can only hear every couple words said. Lavellan has bent to tuck the boy into her arms and for a moment he is overwhelmed with such a vast difference in the appearance of what he knows of her at the palace and this woman who clutches at her nephew with love and tenderness. She is nodding along with his words, a small soft smile that lights her eyes playing about her lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks back at the little girl once she reaches their area of the hallway. He notices her dress is covered in flour and she smells of berries and baked tarts. She stands in front of Lavellan and he can tell immediately that she is much more cautious at Lavellan’s arrival than her brother. Her little arms cross and the girl’s head tilts upward. “Aunty Lavellan,” she says, her voice pitched high and resolute like a queen addressing her court, and Pride smothers a grin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan glances up from the boy and her smile seems to fade at the girl’s expression. Her eyes turn serious. “Manehn, it’s good to see you,” Lavellan says, inclining her head at her in greeting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl, Manehn, plants her little fists on her hips. “Mamae says you weren’t coming back. She says you left to be a champion of Dirthamen and that champions don’t come to visit their families ‘cause they’re too busy protecting their nobles. She says...says you didn’t want to stay here after… that we make you sad. Is that true, aunty?” Her lip wobbles as she speaks. Lavellan’s gaze sweeps down as if the girl had punched her with her words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride shifts, uncomfortable to be witnessing something so personal, and the movement reminds the three family members that there is someone else here. The little girl steps back when she looks up at him and then squints at his face. “Who are you? You’re not Dirthamen. I’ve seen him. He’s…” Manehn doesn’t finish but her expression looks frightened and he chuckles at her to show he understands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My name is Pride,” he greets, “Manehn, was it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods but says nothing else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you spirit born?” The boy asks, poking his head from Lavellan’s shoulder before wiggling out of her grasp. Lavellan lets him go and stands up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride smiles. “Yes. I came from the fade and took a body,” he replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy’s eyes widen and Pride notes the color. “That’s neat! My name is Feysan! They say Mythal has a wolf champion named Pride. You have Mythal’s writings on your face. Are you him?” When Pride nods, the boy gasps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you turn into a wolf?” Manehn asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really!?” Feysan shouts but before Pride can respond, another voice calls from around the corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh no! She found us! Run!” Feysan says and then reaches out to snatch his sister’s hand and drag her around the two adults before racing off back down the hallway. The children yell their goodbyes in between giggles as they disappear around the corner. Pride watches them go before turning to look at Lavellan. Her eyes are full of emotion and he looks away before she catches him watching. A woman steps around the hallway calling out to the children and then her voice dies away as she locks eyes with them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can hear the sharp intake of breath Lavellan takes when she sees the other woman at the end of the hall. They are almost identical and yet so very different. This woman’s hair is the same shade of black as Lavellan but where hers is long and curled at the ends, the other woman’s is short, just past her chin, and straight instead of wavy. Their eyes are both the same color violet, a feature so deeply prominent in this family that again, he wonders exactly how Felassan knows Lavellan as their eye color is deeply similar. Are they related in some way? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan is lithe, like a dagger’s sharp edge, muscle and grace in equal measure. She is like a thief in the night, her body showing years of training. Her sister is not. Though similar in height and weight, her sister is round and soft. Her dress is a stark contrast to Lavellan’s current armor. She does not lack in beauty, the same striking features that pull the gaze that Lavellan has, but her expression is different. The way the two stand is different. She is a mother, a noble woman trained in the arts of child rearing and household keeping. Not daggers in the dark and killing treasonous lords and the like. Her sister also has no vallaslin though the decor suggests she is a devout follower of Dirthamen as he spots the same raven’s eye motif above doorways and windows as he has seen in the palace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He notes all this in the few moments of silence between the two sisters before Lavellan is moving, swiftly and abruptly, from her place next to him to across the hallway. Her sister’s arms open, her eyes closing as she closes her arms around Lavellan and she tucks her face into her sister’s shoulder with a sob. Pride feels as if he is observing a moment in time that he will never witness again and he almost wishes he wasn’t there to see it because he knows when they leave, she will not be this woman. He will not see this woman who’s heart is so large at the sight of her family, he is surprised there is no spirit of love in the room with them. He should not be here but he draws closer to them as if in a trance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Deshana, I had no idea you’d be here,” Lavellan admits, pulling away from her sister to look her in the eye, “I thought Bellanari and her husband were here for the season.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deshana laughs, her voice full of joy as she answers, “They are but we came to visit. Bellanari is close to giving birth. She wanted me here. What brings you here?” Deshana scans her sister’s face, her eyes harden slightly as she traces Dirthamen’s vallaslin before they follow the edge of her ear and land on him. He clears his throat, arms going behind his back and shoulders straightening at her assessing gaze. A part of him regrets not wearing his sentinel armor or even a more stylish set of robes that he usually wears. He hadn’t expected to be dealing with Lavellan’s family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And who is this? A servant of Mythal’s?” Her arms fall away from Lavellan and the two separate. Lavellan turns to look at him, a smirk in place as she turns to face him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is…” and here he can see her struggle to decide what to call him. He has been Wolf or Dread Wolf to her since they’ve met. He has only heard her call him by his name once. He finds it interesting that she goes only by her family name, so much so that her own sister and niece and nephew call her Lavellan as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pride,” he answers, and takes a small bow. His wild hair slides along his back and slips over his shoulder. Its messy braids he had hastily thrown up with a leather strap before leaving this morning tugging at the earring. He has never cared much about his hair. Another facet of his true nature. The wild beast inside him and he won’t care now. He is the Pride of the People, a servant of Mythal and a champion of the just. He will not begin to care now, even if he can see the slowly widening eyes from Lavellan’s sister at his name before she can cover it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deshana tilts her head at him, eyes sweeping over his tall form, before looking back at her sister with a calm clipped smile. “Mythal’s wolf and Dirthamen’s champion? What an interesting company to grace the halls of Lavellan’s summer estate,” Deshana says and Pride can almost hear the hint of fear in her voice. The slight tremble at the thought of such high servants of the Evanuris in her home. He frowns when he sees the small droop in Lavellan’s shoulders when she hears it too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan shrugs, already the woman full of tenderness and quiet joy slipping away to be replaced with the one he knows best. He wonders if there is more to her than just the sultry and secretive champion and the glimpse of the person he has gotten to see with her family. What other aspects of her lay just underneath the surface of this woman. Cruelty and kindness? Tender love and fierce devotion? He wants to know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But not now…</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thinks. They are only meant to be here briefly. They must make their way to the border and he still needs to make contact with Felassan. He prays that he is in time to save who he can from House Sabrae but it feels less and less likely the longer they linger in the hallway of her family’s estate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is nice to meet you, Deshana Lavellan. I must apologize for our abrupt arrival and lack of manners but I must insist that we leave,” he begins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The reminder is enough to spur Lavellan into action and she clears her throat before turning back to her sister. “I’m sorry, Desh, I wish I could stay but the Wolf is right. I have something I must do and this was the quickest way to the border,” she says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deshana’s brows furrow, passing between her sister and him and back to her sister before shaking her head. “The border? But haven’t you heard?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan and him share a look as Deshana takes in their packs slung over their shoulders, the knives and armor that Lavellan is wearing and his grip on his staff. Putting the pieces together, Deshana bites her lips before speaking. “You were sent then? To deal with the fighting and the beast?” She asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan nods, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. “What have you heard? Any information you can provide would help.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deshana shakes her head before her eyes dart to the end of the hallway. Pride catches giggles and when he glances behind him, he catches two little heads peeking around the corner. Deshana sighs, and she pushes past them toward the children. “I’ve only heard rumors,” she says over her shoulder and her hand whips out and a barrier shimmers into place between them and the children at the end of the hallway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deshana turns around. “There is a beast in the mountains attacking temples and villages when it isn’t stalking the Forgotten Clans. And the clans have gotten bolder as of late. Elan said he spotted their fires along the trees not four days ride from here. Our guards are spooked. We have them patrolling the estate in shifts because there’s rumors they are snatching slave children.” She glances at her sister nervously as she continues, “Savris has sent all the young slaves away to our estate in Arlathan to stay with our father. They’re of no use here anyway. It’s not summer and this house is mostly empty this time of year. If it were up to me, we’d also leave. The borders are not safe but Bellanari is too close to her time. The midwife says a week at the longest.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan moves toward her sister and grips her hand. “I will do what I can to end this mess. The Wolf is here to deal with the beast. Take the children and leave as soon as Bellanari delivers. I do not know how long this will take or how quickly this can be resolved. I would feel better knowing you and the children are safe.” Lavellan pulls her sister into another hug, this one quicker and says “Give our aunt my blessings on her and my newest cousin. Perhaps I’ll see you again soon if you’re in Arlathan? I know father won’t return to the palace but maybe I can stop by. I’m...not angry at you. And I do have free time sometimes. I promise to visit more.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two pull apart and look at each other for a moment. “Don’t be a stranger again, little cat. The children missed you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Father </span>
  </em>
  <span>misses you. Mother is still angry at you for leaving but I think she’d change her mind if you didn’t stay away for ten years at a time,” Deshana says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan sighs before nodding, “I won’t. I promise. Be safe. Do as I said. I will see you all again soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deshana smiles. “You do the same,” she says and then turns to Pride as if just now remembering he is here, “Keep her safe until she inevitably sneaks away and get rid of that troublesome beast.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods and Lavellan lets go of her sister and returns to his side. “See you soon, Desh,” Lavellan promises and the two of them turn away and head toward the exit of the estate. He can hear Deshana scolding her children as they pass through the colorful hallways and into the courtyard. He spots slaves here and there but he is surprised to note that they do not appear like the slaves of Dirthamen’s palace. There is color in their cheeks and some even smile and greet Lavellan with cheerful enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride observes all this in silence as they exit the gates and head out toward the fields and the treeline that separate the border between Dirthamen and Falon’din’s lands. The sun is just peeking out behind the mountains in the far distance and he sets his gaze toward them in determination. Somewhere out there is a beast he must hunt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For now, he and Lavellan walk in quiet footfalls toward the border and the further they get from her home, the more the woman from the palace takes shape and form. Her hips sway and her eyes take on a sharp and deadly precision as she fingers the dagger’s hilt at her side. They have two days before they reach House Sabrae territory. He hopes it’s enough time to save them.  </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The lowerlands are colder than in Arlathan. The further they get from the summer estate - where a concentration of fade magic gathers around a group of people to the wider wilderness full of wild magic - the more he has to actively spool fade magic in his mind. It is like scooping water from a calm pool to trying to siphon from a rushing raging river. His beast scratches at the corners of his mind. Lavellan turns to him just as they reach the fields. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what would make this faster?” she asks, as if she could hear the wolf in him howling to be released. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns and grins at her. “I suspected there was more to you,” he says, his blood racing at the thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughs, shaking her head and then with a burst of magic, her form changes, shrinks, and is replaced with a large wild cat. Powerful and lethal, sleek black fur and deadly claws. They rake through the dead wheat and packed dirt, as long and sharp as her daggers, and she tilts her head at him and bares her fangs. His wolf rises to the challenge and with a wash of magic, his form shifts. His paws hit the earth and he bares his fangs back in a wolfish grin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is taller than her. Her body is low to the ground but he knows that she is likely faster. She roars, her muscles bunching beneath her back legs and then she shoots forward. He howls in delight and chases after her with wild abandon. His wolf sings and soars in joy, blood pumping through his veins as he races forward. It is like flying and his muscles bound, contract and then spring forward as they dash as quickly as they can toward the treeline and the border beyond.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>….</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They run for most of the day, only stopping to drink water from streams they come across in the forest that splits Dirthamen and Falon’din’s lands and to hunt at midday for a quick meal. Neither seem inclined to slow their pace or to shift back to their elven forms for quite some time. It is only when the forest begins to darken that they start looking for a place to camp for the night. A clearing just ahead seems as good as any and as they step through the trees into a small clearing filled with soft dry dirt and patches of moss, Pride shifts back and all but crumples to the forest floor. Lavellan shifts just moments after him and does the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a long time, they simply lay there and catch their breath before, finally, Lavellan laughs. He joins her, their mingled amusement lifting into the night sky, and Pride is both sleepy and wide awake, filled with an exhilaration that is almost tangible. The stars stretch out above them and they both lay in the moss and dirt with not a single thought to their clothes, their packs still digging into their backs and sides. Lavellan is the first to rise, her eyes glittering in the dark as she sweeps her gaze around the clearing before heading toward the trees to their right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She raises her hand, drawing shapes of the wards used to protect and repel and they shimmer and crackle before fading. She moves to the left to do it again and Pride lets her take care of them as he unhooks his pack and moves around to gather stone and firewood for the night. After the wards are up, Lavellan joins him to help build a fire and set out their respective bedrolls. The barrier Lavellan has placed above them and the trees that stretch toward the night sky should shield them if it rains though he sees no clouds in the sky. The moon is bright and offers them enough light to see by until flames burst from their crudely built camp fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride pulls the rations of bread, cheese, and dried meat and passes some off to Lavellan. She strips the pieces and chews thoughtfully in silence. The only sound around them are the woodlands creatures of the night, the hoot of an owl, the yips of fennec foxes sniffling along the trees as it searches for its den, and the crackle of the fire when the flames dance across the bark of a log. He tries and fails not to watch her across the fire as she licks her fingers clean of the grease from the meat. His eyes follow her movements with a hungry interest that is difficult to tame now that his wolf has caught her scent. She is a creature of the night, the same as him, and they share a new awareness of each other that had not been there before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows she shares the same sentiments as him, sees it when their eyes catch each other across the campfire and she glances away with a soft grin. She tucks her long hair, now as messy and wild as his, behind her long slender ear and he is biting his lip when she slowly begins to strip out of her armor to the under clothes she wears beneath. To distract himself, he tends to himself, pulling off his outer traveling cloak and sweater to sleep in just his pants and clinging undershirt. He can feel her eyes on him when his arms are finally bare. The breeze is cool against his heated skin and he uses it to anchor himself to his surroundings instead of wandering off in lustful thoughts he shouldn’t be entertaining. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears the sound of metal being sharpened and he glances up from his pack to see Lavellan sitting cross legged on her bedroll with her dagger and a whet stone. A rag and oil sit next to her. He watches for a moment before all his questions finally catch up to him and he can stay quiet no longer. “Why did you become Dirthamen’s champion?” He had meant to ask how and not why but he finds he cannot be coy in his curisority around her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pauses, looking up from the glinting metal to look at him, before cocking her brow and chuckling. “Because my father lost favor with the court when he killed my brother and blinded himself in a magical ritual that was supposed to be easy,” she answers. Clipped, blunt and to the point. It is not at all what he expects and shock silences any answer he may have provided. She continues before he can recover, “He was an embarrassment to House Lavellan and Falon’din made it known to anyone who would listen. We became a laughing stock, our grief was like open season during Andruil’s annual Great Hunt. The courts were vicious and relentless and finally my family could take it no longer. We retreated to our own estate in Arlathan, my mother and sister taking over the merchant part of our business, and I was left with a hollow shell of my once great and powerful father to care for.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride frowns, angry for the depravity and cruelty of the courts and sad for her grief he can tell still haunts her. He chooses not to finish his line of questions. He should not have asked and he regrets it now. “I’m sorry,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan, however, surprises him by laughing. “Oh, don’t be, Wolf. We are still rich, after all, even if we are no longer favored by the court. I learned, over time as I hunted down men who stopped paying and sailors who tried to steal from my family, that we didn’t need favor. We could gain what we lost through fear.” Her eyes glint in the darkness and he feels the deep aching anger in her voice. “House Lavellan is not to be trifled with. When I heard Dirthamen had called for a conclave in search for his next champion, I thought perhaps I could gain what favor my father had lost through ruthlessness. Ambitious on my part, perhaps, but it has paid off.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Has it?” He asks before he can help himself because he can still hear the bitterness and hurt when she speaks. Voice sharp like a knife in the dark when she spits the words, the flames of the fire rising as if in harmony of her burning words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She meets his gaze across the fire, her jaw tight and shoulders tense before she looks away and her body melts back into its usual languid posture. Her eyelashes fan across her cheeks when she looks back down at her dagger. She doesn’t speak for a long time and he finally accepts that perhaps she won’t answer. He slides into his bedroll, both arms crossed behind his head as he stares up into the night sky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he begins to drift off, he hears Lavellan slip the dagger underneath her headrest and slide into her own bedroll. His eyes are closed, his consciousness pulling him into the realm of dreaming and just as he falls asleep, he catches her furious whisper against the dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Yes.</em>
  </b>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels it all the way to the bone like a knife passing between his ribs. It is both a promise and an open threat. A declaration to all those who would think to oppose her. He finds it the most honest he has ever heard her be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His dreams are filled with blood and bone that night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>……</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His dreams, or nightmares, prevent him from reaching Felassan in the dreaming world and he wakes groggy, frustrated, and vaguely terrified. He sits up in his bedroll, rubbing his eyes as the sun just begins to rise and then looks toward Lavellan’s bedroll but she isn’t there. Worried, he scrambles up and quickly dresses into warmer robes to fight the chill in the air. Her bedroll is cool to the touch when he makes it over to her side and the campfire has long since burned out. Searching the area, he spots her pack but her armor is missing and so is her daggers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps she is hunting? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But they had brought food with them. Chewing his lip, he turns back to his own things and begins to pack. His movements are swift, having done this often, and his side is ready when he hears the crack of a twig. He is up, staff in hand and spell ready when Lavellan comes strolling out of the woods with a bucket of water. She pauses when she sees him and then grins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At least I know you’re alert,” she says with a chuckle. Her eyes take in his packed bag and robed figure. “And ready to go, it seems.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lowers his staff and allows the energy to return to air around them. He chuckles to cover his embarrassment. “Perhaps I am paranoid. Your bedroll is cool to the touch. Have you been gone long?” He asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She holds up the bucket of water in answer. “I didn’t sleep well so I took a trip to the stream. Cleaned up a bit. I found a bucket by some rocks. Convenient, if a little unnerving. We are close to the border.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks over to take the bucket and sits. He digs out something to use for a rag and wipes away the grime and dirt of their travels from yesterday as Lavellan moves to her side of the camp to pack up her things. When he’s finished, he dumps the water on the campfire to prevent any embers from reigniting and the two head out. They decide to leave the bucket behind. Likely it belongs to someone nearby and it is in poor taste to steal what they don’t need. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they walk, Lavellan hums quietly to herself, a song he does not recognize and he chews his lip but chooses not to ask. He likes the sound of her voice though she is no great songstress like those in Sylaise inner court. Still, the sound of her humming is pleasing to the ear. The casual way in which her hips sway, as if they are out for a morning stroll and not hunting a beast and putting down a Ill conceived rebellion is nice. Or would be if he wasn’t so paranoid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The forest is quiet. Far too quiet. He hears nothing save the bubbling stream nearby and the occasional fluttering wings of a bird taking flight. Not even a buzz from an insect disrupts the atmosphere and he feels a chill creep up his spine. It is hours yet before they reach the border, they are still in Dirthamen’s lands and he wonders what secret lurks in these woods. Lavellan does not seem bothered by the stillness of the trees and he tries to shake the feeling as they make their way down a ravine and across a brook and back up a hill. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was it the lingering terror from his dreams? He tries to remember them but only recalls blood that fills lakes as wide as oceans and screaming. Bones that blacken and decay. He shakes the memory away. Lavellan has stopped humming but her steps neither slow nor change course and he grips his staff a little tighter and follows. His eyes and ears are trained on the forest around them for any sign of danger but aside from the quietness and the sounds of their breathing, nothing stirs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s an hour later when Lavellan begins humming again. He glances at her but her eyes are locked with the treeline ahead. His wolf is beating against his skull and he slows, looking around but he sees and hears nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What madness is this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He looks at Lavellan but she is now further ahead with no signs of stopping. He calls out to her but she doesn’t seem to hear him. He rushes forward to grab her arm but he is stopped by vines gripping his legs. He yells for Lavellan and her footsteps falter and slow. He struggles, trying to freeze the vines so he can break out of them but before he could, they suddenly let go of him. He stumbles forward, trying to reach out for Lavellan who still hasn’t looked back at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stops, abruptly, and her hand falls to a dagger strapped at her side. She unhooks it and flings it toward the trees. It hits a trunk of a tall tree just to her left with a thunk and he readies a spell, thinking perhaps she missed but then he hears a familiar shout and sees Felassan step out of the treeline with his hands raised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Felassan? How…” He trails off in befuddlement. How did Felassan find him so quickly? Where was Rena? The slaves? Was he too late? His eyes jerk to Lavellan but she has only cocked a hip and crossed her arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That almost hit me!” Felassan shouts, jerking his hand toward the tree, eyes wide in indignation, though Pride finds now is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time for Felassan’s sarcasm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh hush, I knew it was you the minute I realized I was humming,” she answers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride is utterly lost and verging on slight panic. His plan did not involve Lavellan catching him with Felassan and he has many questions and no way of voicing them without giving it away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan huffs, offended, “And you threw it anyway!?” He cries, a cascade of annoyance and incredulous washing over his expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan tuts, walking over to the tree and yanking her dagger out. She slips it back in its sheath and laughs when Felassan flinches away. “You ensnared me in your trap, with the same nursery rhyme from my childhood, might I add, and you’re offended I almost killed you for it. Judging by your shout, I don’t think you realized it was us, but still,” she says. She stops and glances back at Pride with narrowed eyes before turning back to Felassan. “Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>you here and exactly who or what were you trying to ensnare?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan pats at his robes as if to double check she hasn’t stabbed him as Pride says, “A good question.” He hopes Felassan can hear the urgency in his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan opens his mouth to answer but a scream interrupts him. All three of them turn to the treeline Felassan has just stepped out of. “Rena!” Felassan shouts. He spares them no glance as he races into the woods behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan turns and stops Pride as he makes his way forward to follow. He jerks to a halt and throws her a glare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When this is done, you have a great deal to tell me, I suspect.” The look she gives him turns his blood to ice but he clenches his jaw and gives her a curt nod. She lets him go and they rush after Felassan, jumping over rocks and cutting through fallen trees. Pride marks the claw marks and charred wood in wonder and horror as they swiftly dash toward the sound of Rena’s terrified screams and the lumbering roar of some hideous creature. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Looks like we found the beast. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They catch up to Felassan quickly and let him lead them through the broken trees and large footprints that Ghilan’nain’s foul monster has left in its wake as it rampages through the forest. Breaking through the treeline, they come to a stumbling halt at the carnage just ahead. Smears of blood and broken wood. The smoldering remains of a hut now broken and shredded, some pieces still actively in flames. Smoke coils through the air, choking and blinding. Felassan is sifting through the rubble, calling for Rena but there is no answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They couldn’t have gotten too far!” Felassan calls, kicking at a piece of broken pottery. “I left her here no more than an hour or so ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride moves forward, using the sleeve of his robe to cover his mouth and nose as he searches around trying to find which way the beast had gone. It is not hard to follow, footprints the size of a dragon though in the shape of a bear paw lead to the right. More broken branches and signs of magical defense spells litter the surroundings. As he follows the prints, he shouts over his shoulder, “This way!” And takes off at a run toward the trail of utter destruction the beast has left behind. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As they move through the woods, he hears loud thumping steps and another scream. Fear propels him faster and he uses the speed to step through the fade, the wild magic in the air singing through his blood. He doesn’t look behind to see if the others have followed and mid leap over a tree that has been ripped from its roots, he shifts into his wolf form. He races toward the sounds of fighting and sees a shallow river just ahead. As he reaches the bank of the river, he is almost knocked off his feet by a gust of hot air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scrambles on the rocks, stones cutting into his paws and he shakes his head. Pure instinct has him leaping to the side and he looks up in time to avoid a strike from razor sharp claws. A monstrous towering bear covered in mottled fur and green scales roars above him. Pride is humbled at the sight of its fury, it’s left eye blazes a livid shade of yellow like liquid gold. As it swings its body back down to land on all fours, he catches the other eye, or socket rather, as it’s missing and bleeding profusely. Rena is not as helpless as he feared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He backs up, darting toward the bank of the river and shifts back into his elf form. The bear is too big for his wolf to defeat. It will take magic and might instead. He is both impressed and horrified by Ghilan’nain’s work but has no time to think about it as the bear begins to charge at him. He shoots a fireball at it for distraction and then ducks to the right, scrambling toward the tree line to lead it away from the river. He catches sight of Rena a few yards ahead. She lays on her side, eyes closed and face bleeding. He prays she’s still breathing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bear growls and to Pride’s shock, opens its mouth and shoots a fireball </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He throws up a barrier but he is not quick enough. Pain explodes as it clips his left arm. The robe sizzles away, doing nothing to protect his skin, leaving burnt and stinging flesh in its wake. He stumbles backwards, eyes watering as bile rises. He is too open a position to conjure a healing spell and the bear is now solely focused on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gritting his teeth, he conjures a strong wind, yanking stones and broken branches to pelt the bear, backing the bear toward the rushing water behind it but it does nothing but anger the beast. Suddenly the creature shifts to the left with a growl, moving its head to look away as if someone is calling to it and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappears</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Confused and alarmed, Pride looks around but he does not see it. He moves forward, eyes searching frantically, spinning this way and that but it’s simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What matter of creature is this? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He wonders, fearful of its return but the beast does not reappear, </span>
  <em>
    <span>It uses the fade to appear and disappear the same as I do. It has magic...</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>is </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>it a beast or is it something else? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The forest doesn’t answer and the pain in his arm reminds him that gone or not, the bear had certainly been real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels the burning flesh on his arm, cautiously touching it with a hiss before pushing healing magic into the wound. His skin cracks and melds under his touch, the pain nearly unbearable before the cooling magic takes it away. The injury is almost healed when Lavellan and Felassan come tumbling out of the woods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rena!” Felassan cries, heading toward the woman and Pride moves to help but he is wary and cautious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was here,” Pride informs though the chaos around them is evidence enough to Felassan as Lavellan walks over to join him. “It was here and then it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>How did Ghilan’nain manage to make a beast that could </span>
  <em>
    <span>walk </span>
  </em>
  <span>through the fade? Is it part spirit? It has magic! The fire is not from Rena, the bear could breathe fire.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan ignores him, pushing Rena onto her back so he can assess the damage. Pride and Lavellan join him and together they check her over. A cut above her right eye is shallow, likely from the rocks and debris but the gouge in her shoulder and neck is severe. Felassan pours healing magic into her, her skin pale under the heat of the sun, and her breathing shallow. Pride focuses on her face, wiping the blood on her away with his torn sleeve and then pressing a cool hand to her burning skin to meld her skin back together. Slowly her breathing returns to normal, color returns to her cheeks and Felassan lets out a sigh. She does not wake but it feels as if the worst is over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Start again,” Felassan whispers, his eyes on Rena and his voice rough. Pride is surprised but the depth of interest from Felassan and surmises that it is possibly guilt. Felassan had left her alone after all to track the beast and it almost got her killed. “What did it look like? Breathed fire? Surely not.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan shifts, looking uncomfortable. “You say it was here and then disappeared?” She asks, her tone implying she is more confused than disbelieving. Her violet eyes meet Pride’s before shifting to his burned sleeve and red flesh. She looks away. Her eyes are wary as she looks around the forest. “Where would it have gone? Why did it leave?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride stands and glances around but the only sound or movement is the river and forest creatures around them. He can hear buzzing from insects and the return of calm to the trees around him. His eyes scan the treeline across the river but nothing seems out of place. His only conclusion is that the beast is truly gone and if that is true, then it means someone is controlling it and it has been called back to wherever it had come from. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A good question and one we need to pursue,” Pride answers, looking down at the three on the ground, “But not now. Rena needs rest and so do we. We should find safer ground to make camp and set up wards.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan raises a brow, looking both amused and annoyed before standing to join him. She crosses her arms. “Is that an order, Wolf?” She turns and glances at Felassan before looking back at him. Her eyes are narrowed in suspicion. “These are still Dirthamen’s lands and therefore, my domain. I want to know why Felassan is here, with an escaped slave of Falon’din’s, and I want to know </span>
  <b>
    <em>now</em>
  </b>
  <span>. If the answer is satisfactory, perhaps I will consider making camp.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride glares and steps toward her but stops when he feels the dig of a tip of a dagger pointed at his neck. “Do not test me, Wolf,” she says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride’s jaw tightens as a wave of righteous anger rises in him but he breathes out slowly and pushes it down. He has no choice but to give her answers, lest he endanger Felassan and Rena further, and there is still the possibility of much larger consequences looming. He opens his mouth to speak, sparing no thought to the dagger’s sharp point, but Felassan interrupts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lower your weapon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cousin</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Felassan spits out, “I know you’re capable of civility in interrogations when the mood strikes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes widened. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So they are cousins. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And now that he knows for certain, he can see the resemblance more sharply. The darker skin tone, the violet eyes, the same striking features though Felassan’s nose is more rounded and his eyes wider apart. He had suspected they were related in some fashion and it was good to know he’d been correct but he sees none of the familial love between Lavellan and Felassan that he had seen at her family’s summer estate. There is a story that sits between them and he is blazing with curiosity but now was certainly not the time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan grins down at him. “Such venom, little cousin. So snot nose brats do grow up to be vicious men, after all.” She steps back from Pride and twirls her dagger before slipping it back into its sheath. The fluid in which she moves is both distracting and another reminder that she is a capable woman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride remembers their fight and then their conversation last night. The conviction in her voice when she spoke of her ruthless ambition to be feared rather than favored. His mind tries to meld it with his memory of her and her niece and nephew. The two are such opposing images, one of a beloved aunt and the other of a woman who’d kill to get what she wanted….and yet he knows her to be both. Soft and sharp. Seductive and dangerous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallows and dares to interrupt. “Perhaps we can take this conversation somewhere less out in the open?” He suggests. He indicates the treeline with a shooing motion, still not entirely sure what had called the beast to them the first time, though he senses it has something to do with Felassan’s ensnarement charm. They have much to discuss, the four of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan tsks but turns away and heads toward the woods behind them without a backward glance. Pride bends to help Felassan with waking Rena. The woman groans, blinking slowly and finding first him and then Felassan leaning over her. “Gently,” Felassan says, reaching out to steady her as she sits up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” She asks after a long moment. “Where is the beast?” She looks around, likely expecting to see it laying amongst the stones and broken branches but she finds nothing and looks fearfully at Felassan and Pride for an explanation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll worry about that later. For now, it’s best we get moving,” Pride says and he and Felassan help her to her feet. She stumbles a bit and falls into Felassan and he wraps an arm around her to keep her upright while she finds her feet. Pride catches a blush from Rena and Felassan looking steadily at the treeline. Pride hides a smile at the idea of the two of them. Not a development he had expected when he had set them to find each other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clearing his throat to catch their attention, he glances around but does not see Lavellan. Not trusting his eyes and ears, he casts a sound barrier. It is not quite the same as the one Mythal often uses, his is more of a redirect of sound than a sound proof pocket of air. It is enough and less suspicious should Lavellan be lurking in the trees trying to overhear. When he’s confident it has fallen on the group, they begin walking in the direction Lavellan had gone. They keep their eyes peeled around them on the chance that the beast returns or for anything else that may come as Pride begins, “You are earlier than I expected and not in the place I last thought you’d be,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan looks uncharacteristically serious when he nods. “We were in a hurry and we had help. Wisdom is with those who managed to escape the fall of House Maheriel. They are hidden away in a place near the grove. The rest are dead.” He keeps his voice low despite the barrier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride barely suppresses the urge to stop in his shock. “What happened?” He asks, voice sharp and urgent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Three Houses were burned last night,” Rena whispers, her voice shaken and full of emotion, “When I arrived back at home, much faster thanks to your illusion and gold, my sister and niece were packing in a hurry. She said that Lord Maheriel and his family had heard word that Falon’din was sending soldiers to burn the Houses along the borders. That they had been declared traitors to Falon’din. I didn’t know at the time that it was true. The lords and ladies had abandoned the House in the night after setting their slaves free. A nice sentiment except where else were we to go?” She stops talking, blinking rapidly and Pride takes a breath as he digests her words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I took Velani and my niece and a handful of others left behind to the grove. We pretended to be mourners and no one seemed to pay us much attention. I found Felassan and Wisdom waiting. Wisdom took the rest after saying something to Felassan and Felassan and I used the crossroads to gain access to the Eluvian still in the cellar of House Sabrae. Except…” she trails off, no longer able to speak and Pride stops walking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me,” Pride says. He already knows what they’ll say but he must hear it. He must know how he has failed them. Lord Sabrae was already dead. The rest of the family already presumably hidden amongst the Forgotten Clans along with House Maheriel and another House that had rebelled. He wonders which one and if he knew them. Likely not. The slaves were freed but abandoned. If they hadn’t fled...if they had no warning… </span>
  <em>
    <span>I was too late.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan and Rena stop with him. “Wisdom gave me the pass key into House Sabrae’s Eluvian,” Felassan continues for her, his face crumpling in anguish, “We went up the steps just in time to run into Falon’din’s soldiers slaughtering everyone in their path. We managed to escape in the chaos only because Ghilan’nain’s beast had broken its chains and scattered the soldiers. We were too late, Pride. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride remembers his nightmares from the night before. They had been filled with blood and bones. Had the spirits that witnessed the depravity been reflecting it out into the fade and he had caught the tendrils even here, still miles away? Had Wisdom been trying to reach him? Felassan and Rena looked like they hadn’t slept in days. This is likely why he couldn’t find him in his dreams. He hadn’t been asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you end up here?” He asks, and they begin walking again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a snap of a stick under foot and they catch a glimpse of Lavellan between the trees up ahead. She turns when they are close enough, and smirks at them. She pauses and crosses her arms, eyes amused. Pride wonders if she’s heard them but at this point, he is so wracked with guilt and anger, he is almost itching for a fight. He hopes she did. Let her hear the pain of a slave whose only crime was being at the wrong house at the wrong time. It is almost a full minute in his inner pain before he remembers he had set a sound barrier. He quietly lets the barrier fade as they catch up to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All done getting your stories straight?” Lavellan asks, her eyebrows raised and smile vindictive. Pride’s first clench and he snarls at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her violet eyes glint at the challenge. This time he sees the flash of the dagger and his staff flares green as he pulls from the raw magic around them but it is Rena who jumps between them. “Enough!” She shouts, “There isn’t time for this. My </span>
  <em>
    <span>son</span>
  </em>
  <span> is still missing. Houses are burning, slaves are being slaughtered and I have no time for petty grievances between Champions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I beg of you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The fight leaves him at once at the sight of her sorrow filled eyes. In the most surprising of moves he has seen since meeting her, Lavellan backs down immediately. Even Felassan appears surprised at the action. Lavellan sighs. “I believe it’s time we start from the beginning,” she says, glancing at Rena with a softer expression before turning away and walking on. “There is a clearing up ahead. We’ll have a meal and the four of us will share everything we know. It appears there is a great deal of information that each of us has and I still want to know why I have a servant of Mythal in the company of a slave of Falon’din’s in my Evanuris’ lands without a master in sight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is a reasonable request and in the interest of being cooperative in exchange for information, the three of them follow quietly behind her. Pride is still worried. Despite Lavellan’s assumption, they </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>spent their time getting stories straight. It is imperative that Lavellan not learn of Mythal’s involvement in her fellow Evanuris’ lands without good cause. He fears what this information may bring about but he supposes it is too late to come up with another plausible scenario. He may very well be the cause of starting a war he hadn’t intended to incite. Dirthamen’s warning feels like it is burning a hole in the back of his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shares a quick glance with Felassan and raises a subtle brow when Felassan winks at him. Was he not worried? Chewing the inside of his lip, he looks away as they step into a clearing filled with moss and wild flowers. There is a break in the tree canopy above them and the sun shines down on a patch of overgrown grass. Felassan takes off his outer robe despite the chill and sets it across Rena’s shoulders. Rena smiles and thanks him softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan sits down and takes her pack off her back. The rest of them follow suit, picking random spots to settle. They don’t bother with a fire or making camp at the moment. Pride is delighted to discover his pack and bedroll was only a little singed from the fireball and he swings it off his shoulder and pulls out a chunk of bread and an apple to munch on. He looks up to see if Felassan and Rena want food only to find Lavellan offering Rena a piece of stripped meat and her flask of water. Rena thanks her quietly and Felassan declines when Rena offers to split it for him. Pride looks away, his mind trying to decipher Lavellan’s play here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman was complex and despite his best efforts to keep to the contrary, she was a fascinating study of contradictions that drew him in and repelled him in ways he had never come across before. He often finds his eyes drawn to her and his thoughts straying to the different sides of her he can’t quite piece together though he knows them to be real because he’s witnessed it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her love for her family was not faked but neither was her feral </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span> she whispered against the dark the night before. Her loyalty is clearly to Dirthamen and she is viscous in her dealings when it comes to opposition to her Evanuris in all forms. She exudes secrecy, he hardly gets a straight answer out of her but when does, it is with a fierce honesty that cuts to the bone. And yet he has seen a side of her that laughs and chats with a slave kitchen chef, has seen her address every slave they come across by name, and seen her face light up at the sight of her family. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only time he has seen the same savage anger and wicked delight she often employs in the palace is her interactions with Felassan, who is apparently her own cousin. There is so much more there than he knows and he wants to know it, know </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he doesn’t know how to ask and doesn’t think it is appropriate to do so. Especially now. There is a tentative peace settled over the four of them as they eat in silence and rest in the sun. His guilt at failing to rescue the slaves of House Sabrae and the rest keeps him subdued. His failure to Mythal is a burning brand coursing through his veins and his stomach churns the longer the silence stretches on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So…” Lavellan says, breaking the quiet after she sips some water from her flask. She looks around and finds Felassan’s cautious gaze. Pride’s hackles raise but outwardly he stays calm, finishing his apple and tossing the core out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan leans back with her arms stretched out and palms flat against the ground to take her weight. She straightens her legs out in front of her, positions herself in what he thinks is a tactic to appear conversational. She grins against the tension her words have built and asks, “Who would like to start first?” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a moment before his mouth opens, except all he manages is a huff of air before Rena interrupts. “House Maheriel has fallen, my masters are gone, the slaves slaughtered. I was the only one to escape,” she begins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This isn’t a full truth but Pride is impressed with Rena’s straight face and confidence as she speaks to Lavellan. She meets her eyes, blue and violet seeking each other out, and Lavellan quirks a brow when Rena does not look away in intimidation the way other slaves would have. Pride catches a hint of respect in Lavellan’s expression as Rena continues, “I was fleeing the slaughter. I went to the grove, as even slaves are allowed mourning, and bribed the Ferryman to let me through the eluvian and to the crossroads with a Golden halla statue I had stolen. It is there that I met a spirit of Wisdom. I told it all that had happened, and it left and returned with Felassan. It told me that Felassan was searching for missing servants that had been disappearing along the borders. The same way my son had gone missing some time ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan clears his throat, cutting in, “My search brought me to Falon’din’s lands. I didn’t expect to run into a minor rebellion and burning of Houses. On our search for these missing slaves and servants, we’ve discovered that House Maheriel wasn’t the only house to burn. Why is Falon’din burning his Houses?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride is utterly lost. This is the first he has heard of missing servants from Mythal’s own lands and he cannot tell if Rena and Felassan are embellishing that part or if some of it is based on truths like the rest of their tale. “Mythal has missing servants at well?” He asks, shock coloring his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Some children, yes,” Felassan replies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan is quiet, glancing between Felassan and Rena and then looking at Pride. “Dirthamen thought we had more time. It is one thing to put down a rebellion of lords siding with the Forgotten Clans and quite another to slaughter slaves with utter disregard,” she says. She looks confused a moment, before leaning forward, “You told Deceit that Falon’din had just killed Lord Sabrae for treason and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>sent his soldiers. That’s why I left so quickly from the temple of Silence. And we’ve heard very little of House Maheriel and what I assume, House Alerion. We only knew of House Sabrae’s betrayal because of Eleri Sabrae had been Falon’din’s champion.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride still doesn’t see the connections. “We know why Lord Sabrae had betrayed Falon’din. Falon’din killed his son. But why the other Houses? What did they have to gain by throwing their lot in with the Forgotten Clans? And if Falon’din has </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> sent soldiers to begin burning the houses, why did he make such a show of it at court?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan snorts. “When does Falon’Din </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>make a show of things?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan sighs, shaking her head. “If it was for show, it’s not the why...it was for </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Who is Falon’Din sending a message to?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each of them are quiet as they try and fail to come up with an answer. If Falon’Din has already sent soldiers to burn the rebel houses, and then made a spectacle of it at court - making sure the entire court saw - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dirthamen.” Both he and Lavellan say at once. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their eyes meet. “He likely saw me in the crowd that day, despite my attempts to stay hidden,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan nods, “And he knew you would report to Deceit. Did he expect Dirthamen to intervene? A test in some way to see where Dirthamen’s loyalty falls? But why go through the trouble?” She asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is a God of Death in a land full of immortals?” Pride asks back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A weak god.” Felassan and Rena had been so quiet during their exchange that hearing Felassan speak up seems to surprise Lavellan who turns her gaze to him. “And what better way to gain power than through mass casualties.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride hums. “Like attempting to incite a war with the Forgotten Clans and causing a rebellion from his own Houses to amass more worship. The show was not just for Dirthamen. It was a message to all the Evanuris,” he says, his eyes narrowing as he mentally searches through his memories of that day at court. Had he seen anyone from different lands? “Likely there were other nobles visiting, or nobles who have family and friends they’d share their tale with. It would reach the rest of the Evanuris in time. Either it would cause a more firm line in the sand with the Forgotten Clans </span>
  <em>
    <span>or </span>
  </em>
  <span>cause more rebellions with the nobles. Both if he was lucky. But what do the nobles gain by rebellion against the Evanuris? We know why Lord Sabrae turned. But what of Maheriel or Alerion?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My son,” Rena says, quietly as if she is just piecing something together. “The missing slaves. My son included. House Maheriel and likely the other two Houses must have had stronger slaves. Magic, I mean. My son is a dreamer. He can shape things. Build things. I can’t speak for the rest of the slave children taken but if they were like my son...that is probably why. But...we thought the Forgotten Clans were taking the children…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are missing pieces of this puzzle,” Pride says and then stands. “The only way we will find answers is to find the missing slaves and see for ourselves. Rena, are you well enough to travel?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rena nods, standing and brushing the grass off herself. “Yes.” Felassan joins them and after a moment, they all turn to Lavellan when she doesn’t stand or make a comment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sits there smirking up them all in amusement. “Oh? Did you remember who’s in charge of this merry little band of liars?” She asks, her gaze falling on Pride with intensity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride fights the urge to scowl and instead chooses to mirror her. He stares back, smiling, and bends to offer his hand. “Are you not even a little curious where all this intrigue leads?” He asks. They stare at each other for a long time, their eyes speaking for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you are lying</span>
  </em>
  <span> - Her violet eyes say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Am I? Prove it </span>
  </em>
  <span>- His reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, her hand comes up and takes his. Her hand is cold, chilled in the crisp air of the forest. His is warm against her palm and he pulls her from the ground. Their hands linger in each other’s for a moment before Felassan clears his throat and the moment breaks. Lavellan looks away first and bends to pick up her traveling pack. She swings it across her shoulder and he does the same with his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they are ready, they let Lavellan lead them toward the last bit of their walk to the border separating Falon’din and Dirthamen’s lands. As they move along, Felassan falls back to walk alongside him, letting Rena and Lavellan move ahead until they reach a point where it is safe enough to speak without being overheard. Pride’s shoulders tighten when Felassan tilts his head at Pride and raises a brow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Lavellan and Rena begin speaking softly to each other, Pride scowls, knowing what his friend means to say. They watch the women for a moment before Felassan tsks. “Did I not warn you not to be distracted by her swaying hips?” Felassan chirps, amusement and weariness coloring his tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride sighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, Felassan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>……</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last leg of the journey to the border is quiet. The sun is beginning to dip as they stroll along the forest, each lost in their own thoughts. Pride is trying to fit pieces of information together but he still does not understand why the Houses would rebel and in what way were the slaves being used to further Falon’Din’s agenda. And what, exactly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>Falon’din’s agenda. He has already concluded that the slaves were not taken by the Clans. If the Houses were keeping strong slave children a secret, they would not side with whoever had snatched them from their grasp. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels as if he is chasing his own thoughts in circles, wondering how far they were from the remains of House Sabrae when Lavellan sidles up beside him. He glances up to find Felassan and Rena quite a ways ahead of them before looking at Lavellan. His hand grips his staff stiffly but he otherwise does not pause in his steps. “What is it?” He asks, catching the thoughtful look she sends his way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smirks, winking at him. “I know that not everything I was told is the truth. Surprised as you may have been to see Felassan, I have not forgotten that Rena was familiar to you. She did not question who you and I were and you did not question her presence with Felassan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride frowns, swallowing before finally accepting that further lying would get him nowhere. He stops trying to beat around the bush and goes straight for the heart of it. “What is it that you want, Lavellan? You would have killed us by now if you did not have some hidden agenda. And you likely do.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How refreshing,” she says, laughing, “It is nice to see you’ve learned something about me after all. Yes, you’re right. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>want something. A bargain.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride’s eyebrows raise. “Oh? I had not thought I had anything to offer you. So what is it, then? Your silence in exchange for what?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s quiet a moment and Pride wonders if it is because she’s not use to asking for things. Sure, she has positioned them into a bargain where she holds all the cards but admitting what she wants makes her vulnerable. It is something he believes she has not been in a long time, not openly, and he stays silent while she debates what she wants to ask him. He does not see what he can offer her that she does not understand… except a listening ear. He doesn’t know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighs before speaking, pausing to look him the eyes. He stops and meets her gaze, burning with curiosity. “Teach me to fade walk as you do,” she says softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fade walk? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“What do you mean?” It is not at all as he expects and to admit such a reasonable request was… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The fear in her eyes, the blatant tensing of her shoulders, her fingers drifting to her dagger as if he plans to not only deny her but to degrade her as well. As others would have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His chest tightens. “You cannot step through the fade? Move from one place to another?” There were those born, more often these days than in the past that are born with lesser magic. Normally, they would...they were turned into slaves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She laughs. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I can move through the fade, same as the rest. But you...you’re a dreamer. You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>step </span>
  </em>
  <span>through the fade. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>become </span>
  </em>
  <span>the fade. Like a spirit. There are stories about you, Wolf. That you are almost as strong as an Evanuris. I want to learn how you fade walk. I want to learn how to speak with spirits the way you do. I want to understand it the way you do,” she says, leaning close with earnest eyes that he tries not to get lost in. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she says, “Teach me and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>swear </span>
  </em>
  <span>I will not breathe a word about how you lost our fight on purpose.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fear, quick and undiluted, makes him pull back from her. The smile she sends him is cat like and vicious and he snarls before slamming his mouth shut. She laughs and puts her hands up in fake surrender. “Oh I know,” she declares, “I knew it when you hit me with that raw magic during our fight. That hurt much more than I let on. You are stronger than me. You could have easily overpowered me but you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stays silent, admitting nothing before he laughs and crosses his arms. “Then why did you not say anything from the beginning?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have already told you why. Stories, Wolf. I wanted to know what you were like. If the stories were true.” She walks around him, assessing him before smiling flirtatiously. “You did not disappoint. So...do we have a bargain?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to say no. He wants to challenge her. The wolf in him wants to fight her again, this time with his full power. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it is not for him. He must do better, be better, because Mythal is counting on him. So he nods and the smile she sends next is genuine. There is a moment of them leaning slowly in each other’s space. Of his blood racing as she lifts her hand for him to shake but the moment is interrupted by Felassan and Rena calling out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two break apart, listening, and it’s then that they notice the smell of smoke in the air. They search the forest ahead of them but Felassan and Rena are too far ahead to see them. Together they sprint, shifting mid stride to catch up. Pride forgets the moment, his fear for his friends becoming a much more pressing need. He keeps Lavellan close by as he searches for a familiar scent. They race through the forest on paws and adrenaline, only halting when the smoke becomes too thick to scent through. Shifting back, the two of them stumble through a break in the trees and then pull to a halt at the carnage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bodies of soldiers and slaves alike litter the fields. Rena stands shaking, her hand pressed to her mouth to fend off smoke and ash or fight the nausea inducing smell of burnt flesh, he isn’t sure. He has seen battle but this was...a slaughter. His eyes follow the path of bodies leading through the field, and can see the charred remains of House Sabrae still burning in the distance. Felassan is crouched and hunched over, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If the beast had broken its chains and gone on a rampage, it was only right that the vile soldiers who killed innocent slaves suffered a most karmedic end. But this was not justice. This was unnecessary. A sacrifice with no gain save power for a vain and greedy tyrant. His blood boils in rage as Felassan stands from his crouched position after offering a silent oath to the body of a slave nearby whose throat is torn open, hands still outstretched as if he’d been crawling in escape. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan is a quiet statue next to him, nothing to give away her thoughts on the field before them other than the white knuckled grip she has on the hilt of her dagger. Pride is silent as he stalks forward to join Felassan and Rena. He says nothing for a long time as they survey the field and bodies. The carnage stretches out from House Sabrae toward the treeline but scatters also toward the south. As if people had been running with no clear direction. Their thoughts had been on getting away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan creeps up beside him, her mouth a thin line, and he meets her hard gaze before shaking his head. He thinks of their conversation about Falon’Din sending a message to Dirthamen and the rest of the Evanuris. This was much more than a petty skirmish with the Forgotten Clans at the border. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The bodies lead toward the mountains. I can see more soldiers in that direction than slaves,” Lavellan says, her hand falling away from her dagger to point to the sparse woods leading toward the slope of a mountain to the south. “Likely they were attempting to return somewhere in that direction. Let’s see where. Perhaps we may find more clues.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her voice startles Rena, who nods silently, pulling her hand away from her mouth and turns away from the bodies. Felassan is tense and quiet as he places a hand on her back to lead her forward. Pride grinds his teeth, seething in his anger at Falon’din’s needless cruelty. He lets Lavellan take point and trails behind them with nothing to add and a churning fury swelling inside him. The taste of ash singes his throat and burns all other thoughts away but the need for justice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let the fire of vengeance burn. The cause is clear. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They come across a soldier still alive as they pick their way through the pine trees that lead toward the mountains. He is sitting, leaning against a tree with a tear across his abdomen and blood pooling around his waist. They pause as he grunts in pain to catch their attention. Lavellan signals Rena and Felassan to keep walking and Pride and her move toward the soldier. She crouches to meet the man’s glazed and haunted eyes, saying nothing and waiting for his eyes to focus. Pride clenches his fist, a burning shadow looming over them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you...co-come to...slay the...beast?” His words are barely a whisper and Pride shifts a little closer to hear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan tsks. “The beast must have been called back. Whatever chains it broke have been replaced.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man groans. “C-can’t be… rod broken. The beast ro-roams untethered…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan waves her hand in impatience and blue light shimmers over the man. He gasps, and Pride sees skin mend itself underneath the tear in this armor. It is enough to stave off his death by an hour, perhaps. Not nearly enough to save the man’s life. He will still bleed out in time. He wants to know more about the rod the man speaks of but his confusion over the healing magic forces something else past his lips. “Why do you not heal yourself?” Surely with Lavellan’s quick healing magic, it is enough to extend mana into healing the rest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man grunts, pulling himself up further but he slides back down weakly. “Can’t. The beast has some kind of poison in its claws,” his voice is rough but no longer stuttering and halting against jagged breaths. Pride hides the urge to chuckle at Lavellan’s impatience. She had only healed him so he would speak more clearly, not to save him. Perhaps Pride would have more sympathy had he not seen the broken and bleeding bodies of slaves, cut down for no other crime than being born to oppression. The man continues, interrupting Pride’s uncharitable thoughts, “Slows magic. I can barely conjure a light. What manner of beasts has Ghilan’nain created? It must be stopped.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This becomes more curious by the hour…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something the soldier says catches his attention. He had said beasts. As in plural. There was more than one. If what this man says is true then Rena was already vulnerable. Felassan and Rena may walk into a trap. Lavellan glances at him, her eyes showing she’s reached the same conclusion. She worries her lip a moment as if in indecision before she stands. Her eyes drift down to the man before moving back to meet his worried gaze. “Find out what you can from him and then catch up. Be quick, Wolf.” With that said, she turns and sprints off to find the others. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride huffs, pulling his shoulders back and pushing down the urge to sneer down at the soldier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You catch more flies with honey…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He crouches down to meet the man’s pained gaze. The soldier’s head lulls against the tree, looking weary. “Are you here to slay them? The general said someone would be sent.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Indeed. Where is the other one?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The soldier swallows, nodding his chin toward the direction the other three went. “Down around the ridge, at the temple of the dead. Forgotten Clans have been harassing the priests. We’re building an army to wipe them out once and for all. But the beasts…” he pauses a moment, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “Hurts to breath. C-can’t heal myself. H-help me, please…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride grins, more of a showing of teeth than a smile, and laughs. “When did I say I would save you?” He asks, and then let’s fire gather in his arms, dripping like lava just above the man’s face. The man tries to scream, fear and horror twisting his features. Pride let’s the man scream for only a moment before shoving fire down his throat. He feels nothing but satisfaction when he’s done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smell of burnt flesh follows him all the way through the trees where he finds the rest of his group waiting. Felassan looks grim and Rena has her arms wrapped around herself. She looks both worried and determined. He is sure they heard the man’s screams but he can’t find it in him to feel remorse. When he looks at Lavellan, her eyes are half lidded and she sweeps her gaze over him before giving him a nod as if pleased with what she sees. They share a long look, his blood racing, before he drags his thoughts back to their mission. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are two beasts. One is at the Temple of the Dead, somewhere around the ridge. Since the one that attacked in the woods was called back, this is likely the one Felassan snared. The other is untethered and could be anywhere,” he informs, he glances around them but sees no signs of the beast nearby. Lavellan cocks a brow and Pride continues, “The soldier says they are building an army to wipe out the Forgotten Clans. That the clans have been harassing the priests. I think I know why. Strong dreamer children, unmarked and young would make raw magic nearly impossible to overwhelm. They would make a formidable army. I think when the children began to disappear, the Houses </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> investigate. Likely they started with the Forgotten Clans. Perhaps the priests that stole children in the night wore masks similar to the Forgotten Clans as a way to lead to conflict.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan hums, nodding to herself as she follows his train of thought. “When the Houses discovered that it was not the Forgotten Clans but the priests of their God instead they felt betrayed. They joined the clans instead. Slipping information and supplying their own warriors. Someone must have let it be known to Falon’Din that strong dreamer children were living amongst the nobles. Perhaps this is information Falon’Din gained when he interrogated his champion or there is another player in this mix. Tell me Rena, who amongst your House knew of your son’s abilities aside from yourself and masters?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rena swallows, looking frightened and lost, “My sister and her daughter. My mother and my uncle. But all of them are accounted for. Except…” Tears well and slip from her eyes as she gasps. “Except we had a visitor. Not long before my little Farrow went missing. A priest from the temple of Dirthamen had come by for something. I don’t remember what. He had a slave with him who had caught my son in the gardens in a dream. Oh...what was his name?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sa’lan?” Lavellan supplies, voice sharp like a knife. “Was his name Sa’lan? Was the priest Banal’ras?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rena nods in answer. Pride jerks his gaze to Lavellan. “The slave I interrupted you from killing? He went missing from the palace after you and Dirthamen had gone with Ghilan’nain. I should have known. I didn’t realize the connection…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan sighs. “And he likely has help in other parts of the Evanuris lands. This is bigger than just these two shared courts. We have missing servants in Mythal’s lands and I would not be surprised if there are other missing slaves from other houses closed to the Forgotten Lands.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride runs a hand across his face. “So what do we do? If we interfere, we risk war between all the Evanuris. It will be a bloodbath and there are too many innocents involved and likely thats exactly what Falon’Din wants. More slaughter means more power. He feeds off it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan sighs, glancing at Rena before clearing her throat. “I have an idea. Rena is too vulnerable and that beast is still untethered. There is too much at stake now to not involve Dirthamen and the other Evanuris. Pride, you were tasked with finding the missing slaves and slaying the beasts. Felassan has already shown that he is skilled at ensnarement charms. Perhaps that will prove useful.” She stops here and Pride already knows what she plans to say next. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We will need to split up. Felassan and I will find the Temple, slay the beasts and find the slaves. You and Rena will send a message to Dirthamen about what is happening. If you leave now, you may be able to use the mirror in House Sabrae before it is lost in the fire.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Rena shouts, face red as she marches to confront Lavellan. “I will not abandon my son now with him so close at hand!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan’s eyes soften and Pride sighs. “Rena, you are no use in a fight and with that beast’s poison, you would be too vulnerable…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! I don’t care!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan steps forward and lays a gentle hand on her shoulder to calm her. “Listen to me,” he says but Rena jerks from his grip, shaking her head and backing away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please...I can’t lose him. He is all I have…” She glances at Pride, pleading and desperate. His heart lurches but Lavellan is right. She would only get in the way and likely be killed if she came with. He shakes his head and her face scrunches up in fury. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan reaches out and takes her hand. Rena pulls but he yanks her closer and takes her other hand gently but firmly. “Listen. I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to find your son. I swear it. Pride and I make quite the team. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> see your son again.” He tilts his head, meeting her mournful eyes and Pride and Lavellan move away, allowing Felassan to soothe her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan drifts closer to him, her hand on the hilt of her dagger. Pride clears his throat. “How long should I stall? How quickly do you think Dirthamen will act?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan shakes her head, her eyes scanning the trees around them, breath fogging in the crisp air. “I don’t know. Swiftly, I hope. Try not to linger too long that they see you, Wolf. And beware the clans,” she says, turning to look him in the eyes in warning, “If you can cause a distraction, do so. Rescue what children you can but only if you can do so without being spotted. I do not know what would happen if two servants of Mythal are caught interfering with Falon’Din’s affairs but likely nothing good. Keep watch for my return. I will leave Rena somewhere safe.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride nods, tucking away the urge to reach out and take her hand. She smirks at him and he almost wonders if she knows. He puts his hands behind his back in his customary posture and her smirk widens. “Don’t get yourself killed while I’m gone, Wolf. We have a bargain to fulfill after all.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” he says, smirking at her in return. He looks away before he foolishly gives in to temptation and catches Rena giving Felassan a hug before she pulls away with tears on her lashes. Felassan whispers something Pride can’t hear and she nods before they both turn toward Lavellan and Pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Lavellan asks, her voice soft. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rena wipes at her tear stained face before lifting her chin. “Yes,” she says and Lavellan nods back. The two begin to head back the way they came and Felassan calls out to Lavellan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When this is over, cousin, perhaps we should have a talk.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan laughs. “Perhaps we will.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan and Pride watch them leave, Lavellan reaching out to take Rena’s hand. When she steps forward, the two blur and they are further down the path. It is not sustainable in the long run to fade walk too much but they are left with little choice. Time is of the essence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shall we?” Felassan asks, gesturing forward after they can no longer see the women. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Let’s find the Temple and see what a weak god’s vanity has wrought.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>……</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is mid day when they finally find the ridge. They are pressed against the rocky outcrop, eyes scanning the terrain below. It is more of a fortress than a temple. Soldiers mill around, some grouping together to spar and some mending armor. A caged pin with glowing runes and faded tendrils sits near the far side of the temple, another bear beast lays curled up and sleeping inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Temple is spread out into smaller buildings, barracks, food storage, and petitioner paths. A small golden obelisk sits glowing at the center and stairs climb into the opening of the mountain for the inner sanctuary. It’s style is different from Mythal’s but it’s functions are the same. He spots Sentinels and priests near the mouth of the cave and some down below speaking to the soldiers. The most disturbing are the bodies laid out on the petitioner paths that wind around the obelisk and up the stairs toward the inner sanctuary in some horrific form of rune he has never seen before. Magic pulses out of the obelisk and feeds into the bodies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That does not bode well,” Felassan says, voice low despite their distance and vantage point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride furrows his brow, following along the bodies from the top and down toward the obelisk in morbid curiosity. He can’t puzzle what exactly is being accomplished with this ritual but he knows he will not like the answer. The bodies are a mishmash of dead soldiers and slaves but as he scans the bodies, the buildings, and the surrounding terrain, he sees no children. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The missing children must be in the inner sanctuary,” he decides, speaking aloud for Felassan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So how do we get them out?” Felassan asks, his eyes drifting toward the sleeping beast in its cage, “And who has the control rod for the beast?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride chews his lip, thinking, before nodding toward a soldier directly below them. A small short staff is propped up against the wall next to him as the man dozes against a stack of crates filled with herbs and potions. The staff has a bright yellow stone set into a cage of branches, and it pulses every so often. Pride glances at the beast during such a pulse and the beast shifts in his sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Him,” Pride says. He pulls back away from the rocks and slides quietly back down away from outcrop to the wooded ascent, the light dusting of snow keeping his steps quiet. He pauses, waiting for Felassan to join him. Once they are a safer distance away, Pride props himself against a tree and crosses his arms. His staff is shrunk and tucked inside his belt loop. His and Felassan’s pack is stuffed away between two boulders a few yards away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan dusts a boulder off nearby before climbing on top and sitting cross legged to face him. “What’s our plan here? Even if we did manage to steal the rod and maybe use it to control the beast, that doesn’t really get us inside the sanctuary. Do we wait for Lavellan and Dirthamen?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride shakes his head. “No. We need a distraction. A big one.” He thinks over what he remembers of the temple’s layout and what could be a big enough distraction to lure the sentinels away from the sanctuary. An idea begins to form in his mind but there were so many variables, he's not sure if it could work or if it is worth the potential outcomes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Two beasts would cause quite the distraction but my concern are those bodies. What the void is Falon’din’s plan here? What ritual involves dead bodies on a petitioner path and how does that relate to...whatever it is Falon’din plans to do with the Forgotten clans and the Evanuris?” Felassan looks disturbed and when Pride doesn’t answer, he asks, voice full of trepidation, “What are you planning, Pride?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride grins. “Something reckless, no doubt.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan sighs, standing and hopping off the boulder to land silently in the snow below. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t like the sound of that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, cracking his knuckles and visualizing the length of time it would take to go around the temple and into the Forgotten Lands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Neither will they.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They are careful as they move along the ridge, down and around the temple, keeping far away from wandering soldiers and scouting parties. Felassan follows behind, keeping his grumbling to a bare minimum but Pride can hear it when he’s close enough. “Can’t believe you think this is a good idea. Have you lost your mind?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride chuckles, whispering back, “Perhaps.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They glide through the forest, soundless as they can be, looking for any tracks or campfires that signal a possible clan. It is unwise for them to be this close to the Forgotten ones but desperate times call for desperate measures. What better way to involve both parties than to lead one to the other. He should feel guilty for inciting needless death and playing into Falon’din’s hand but the Forgotten Clans are not innocent bystanders. They often incited their own violence and the soldiers at the temple are here for them anyway. Besides, Anaris owes him blood. He shakes the memory of Andruil’s tongue licking along his jaw away in disgust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pauses a moment, listening to the trees before reaching out to grab Felassan’s arm. “Hold. We’re close,” he whispers, eyes scanning the woods. He catches a glimpse of a fire a few yards ahead. Too close. He pulls Felassan away, and they quietly slink away behind a larger tree to their left before they’re spotted. They crouch low, hiding among the bushes and fallen trees that make a makeshift border. Pride glances between the bushy branches, spotting warriors with axes and peaking tents twined among the trees. They had almost walked right into an encampment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now would be a good time to use a barrier. Pull it against you and I. Make sure it’s nice and snug,” Felassan whispers to Pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cocking a brow, Pride casts quietly, letting it fall against them and then yanking at the magic to pull it tight. Felassan grins. “My turn for tricks, Dread Wolf,” he says, then stands up quietly, staying hidden behind the tree and humming softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride feels the magic rise and wash over him but does not feel the compulsion magic that seemed to pull at Lavellan and the beast. He wonders why Lavellan was ensnared but not him the first time they had gotten caught in Felassan’s spell. Was it tied into the same melody Felassan hums along to? He will have to ask Felassan when this is over. If they survive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan hums, his fingers casting magic that slithers around the forest floor, like a snake, stretching toward the encampment ahead of them. Pride carefully shifts away, preparing himself for a fast run back to the temple to lead the clan warriors toward the soldiers. He glances toward the camp, trying to count how many may be in the forest as Felassan crouches down and whispers, “The camp is likely warded against magic. We’ll have to wait until one of them gets too close and it pulls him out. The rest will investigate…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes is all it takes before someone is shouting. Felassan and Pride tense, waiting, and then they feel a thump that shakes the ground and a loud ear splitting roar. The camp bursts with noise, orders being thrown about and weapons being drawn. Pride jerks his head toward the camp to see, and spots the beast lumbering through the camp, headed straight for the spot they are crouching at. “This is even better,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Time to go!” Felassan shouts, and then they both are racing through the trees, Felassan trailing magic in his wake. Pride doesn’t turn around as they dash over rocks and up a steep incline but he knows they are being pursued. The beast's loud footfalls are close on their heels and the sound of several pairs of feet are following behind. Someone shouts and the beast roars again. Another loud thump and he can feel heat licking across his back. There is pandemonium behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is insane!” Felassan yells, taking a swift turn to the left with Pride close to his side. Pride laughs, running up and leaping over a fallen log and landing hard on the balls of his feet. Felassan drops down beside him with a huff, eyes wide and expression caught between fear and excitement. They wait and listen for a moment before a crash lands near their hidden spot and then they are off again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sprinting as quickly as they can, Pride’s echoing laughter mingles with Felassan’s broken stream of expletives as they head in the direction of the temple. He thinks this is the most fun he’s had in years despite Felassan’s blatant disagreement. They cross over a stream, Felassan stops, panting a moment and then surging with magic to make sure they’re still followed and then they fade run to put more distance between them and the mayhem behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they draw closer to the temple, Pride turns their run into a light jog before they slowly trickle to a walk. “We’ll have to tread carefully here,” Pride says, glancing behind and listening as the beast roars in the distance and light flares from magic defense spells. He stops and spins toward Felassan. “We will not fool the high priests and sentinels but we can fool the rest.” He weaves a glamor spell over himself and Felassan before they turn back toward the temple. Pride adds a see-me-not spell for added assurance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reach the grounds, slipping behind crates without anyone spotting them and taking note of the soldiers positions and the beast still in its magic prison. Their next goal is to get the control rod from the sleeping soldier. Felassan half crab walks sideways, careful not to tip over the crates of weapons and food supplies. Pride watches, keeping an eye on the soldiers closest to them. He strains to listen to what they’re saying but only makes out half the conversation, which is apparently about apples. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The seeds, y’know. Can’t stand them,” Soldier one says, spitting said seeds and tossing the fruit behind him without looking back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The core hits his shoulder and Pride rolls his eyes. He scoots down further, following behind Felassan. Just as Felassan is reaching for the rod, another roar, this time closer startles them both. Felassan jerks his hand back, knocking into a crate next to him as the beast in its prison roars again. Pride stabilizes the crate, jerking his gaze toward the beast and the now awake soldier but neither are looking in their direction. There’s a rumble, and then utter chaos breaks out around the temple.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of metal clashing and the whistle-thunk of arrows are broken only by the thrashing from the beast in its prison. The soldier with the rod springs into action, snatching the control rod and backing away from the prison before lowering the glowing bars. The beast charges, first toward the soldier but a bright flare halts it and the beast spins and heads into the fray. Someone crashes into the crates next to them and Felassan and Pride jerk into motion. They slip out from the crates and dodge the battle ready soldiers who race forward to clash with the Forgotten clan warriors. The beasts ramble, smashing into a crowd of temple soldiers before lumbering to reach its twin. The soldier with the rod uses it to fight the other beast away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride and Felassan press up against the wall near the stairs that lead toward the petitioner path. “Think they're distracted enough?” Felassan asks, crouching and yanking Pride down with him. Pride scrapes his elbow, pain stinging along his skin and laughs. He glances up the steps and sees Sentinels calling out orders. They line up along the raised platforms to shoot arrows but there are too many of their own soldiers in their path. Eventually they make their way down, running past where Pride and Felassan crouch along the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quickly,” Pride calls, standing and motioning for Felassan to join him, “Let’s slip inside. Ready your magic and prepare for a fight. I have not seen the priests come out yet.” They head up the stairs, passing dead bodies in various forms of decay. The smell is the worst, churning his stomach with every breath but they press on. He has no time to work out what the bodies are for and he knows he won’t like the answer once it becomes clear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An arrow whizzes past his ear and he turns to look but there is too much fighting and chaos down below that he can’t tell if they’ve been spotted or the arrow was widely out of aim. He and Felassan quicken their pace and make it to the doors. Air seems to breath out, the inner sanctum appears to be lit by nothing more than gathering wisps of the fade near the torches. Candles line along the tables on either side but they remain unlit. The stone of the floor is rough, most furnishings and decor seemed to be carved out of the mountain’s stone, shaped by magic. There are few recognizable temple magic here, save the reflection pool toward the back. A giant owl statue in mid hunt, claws open and stretched wide to grab some unsuspecting creature stretches out over the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they draw closer, Pride is horrified to realize the pool is filled with blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that…” Felassan trails off, the disgust in his voice palpable. Pride shushes him and directs them to the right where a door is cracked open. They sneak along the wall, and slip inside only to be confronted with more bodies. Felassan covers his mouth to keep the smell at bay but Pride is too shocked to do much but stare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Children. The bodies are children.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>Are we too late?</span></em> <em><span>Please, not again.</span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan breathes out a choking noise rising under his muffled mouth and Pride can feel fury and blinding rage claw along his skin. His own beast roaring in his head to match the noise outside the temple. The two of them move along the room, a ritual room of some sort by the looks of it. The room is dark, hardly any light to go by. His feet catch the glisten pools of blood that begin to spread out under the bodies. Their throats are slashed, magic hangs heavy in the air. All he can see is Rena’s pleading eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is not right. This can’t be right. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But nothing in the room stirs but the two of them. Where are the priests? What manner of ritual requires the sacrifice of strong magical children? What matter of savagery has Falon’din’s madness unleashed? There are no answers to be had. He bends to check, to be sure, to the nearest child. The child’s eyes are closed, soft brown hair covering half his face is matted in blood. The wound looks fresh, gaping, and Pride fights down the urge to vomit at the sight. He stands and looks away. He catches Felassan’s violet eyes in the shadows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan’s face appears to be made of stone. Carved in a deep resounding anger that matches Pride’s own. They both move at once, leaving the room behind and heading for the door across the inner sanctum. The door is locked, and Pride can feel a magical current around the lock. “Stand back,” he whispers to Felassan and then shuffles backwards. He pulls the staff hanging from his belt and sends a pulse of magic through it. The staff extends in his hand. Gathering as much magic as he can pull to him, he aims the head of it at the lock and unleashes a volley of energy. The door blows open and stone and dust billow in the air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan chuckles but it’s rough and dark. A sound Pride does not hear often. The door swings open to darkness but the air rushing around their feet indicates it’s a tunnel. Felassan pulls his own staff out and uses it to create a light. The tunnel stretches down into more shadows. Pride takes a deep breath and steps forward. “Prepare yourself. There may be traps. I am sure they heard that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They move forward as one, stepping down the tunnel into the dark that lays beyond. Pride can feel his beast howling for justice, shaking against its fleshy cage. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He whispers to his wolf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a humming of magic in the air as they snake their way down the tunnel. The tunnel itself has no light, save the soft glow that comes from Felassan’s staff. The walls are dry, stone and blood splatters their only trail. As they turn the corner, a glowing light at the end, just enough to penetrate the darkness is just ahead in the shape of a rectangle. A door. They slow their walk, readying magic for whatever lays inside. Pride surges magic, using loose stone and rocks to shape and meld itself over his robes for armor. Felassan does the same. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride steps forward, sending a tendril of magic toward the handle but feels no warning. If anything, the magical glow beyond the door seems to beckon them inside. Weary, he reaches out and touches the handle. The door clicks, and creaks open. Felassan shutters out a breath but nothing happens. There is a soft noise, like a terrified wail before being muffled to silence. He uses his foot to push the door open and then steps inside, Felassan close on his heels. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The glow, as it turns out, comes from magical bars of a prison cell. There is a high priest standing inside the cell with the bars up, back pressed against the corner of the room, and a child in his arms. Pride stops, fear keeping him still as he takes in the scene. The child is dressed in dirty robes, his chin pointed up, his mouth covered by a hand to keep him quiet. A knife is pressed against his throat. Another child sobs in the corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Shouts the priest, and the children flinch. “Why are Mythal’s servants in this temple?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan spits. “Let the child go,” he says through clenched teeth. The high priest scoffs, pressing the knife harder in the child’s skin. A drop of blood trails down and disappears beneath the collar. The child, a boy who must be no older than 100 or so, whimpers. The other child watches from the corner, a girl with dirty hands and matted hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride steps forward carefully, handing his staff to Felassan and lifting his hands in the air in peace. His inner beast snarls but he quiets it, moving slowly further into the room. “We mean no harm. We are looking for an escape. The temple is under siege by the Forgotten clans. Ghilan’nain’s beasts are free and tearing everything apart. I suggest we move quickly, least we all end up dead.” He keeps his voice reasonable, his tone conveying urgency. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The high priest hesitates, his arm wavering before he drops the arm away and pushes the child forward. “There is a door down the way,” he nods his head toward the end of the room.  The bars keeping them inside lower and fizzle out. “It leads to the escape tunnels. Out of the mountain and into the valley. The forgotten clans will lose. Falon’Din will be here shortly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As swiftly as they can, Felassan strides forward and reaches for the child as Pride rallies the magic around them. The priest was foolish to trust them but he uses the moment to summon the stone and roots deep in the mountain. They break through just as Felassan grabs the child and pulls him to safety. The high priest screams, and the other child scrambles forward as Pride uses the stone and roots to crush the priest. Blood sprouts as they pierce through skin and bones. A snarl lifts from Pride’s throat, rage and delight bleeding out of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So engrossed in his killing, he growls when Felassan grabs his arm. Shaking himself, he turns to look at Felassan before letting out a sigh. “Justice has been served, my friend. Call your Wolf to heel. Let us get the children to safety.” Felassan’s voice is calm, as if Pride hadn’t almost turned his rage on him. The burning anger leaves him, and he sees the children are pressed against Felassan like a lifeline, watching Pride with fearful eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride frowns. “Apologies. Let us make haste.” His voice is dark and he swallows down the rest of his words of guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” The child with the knife wound asks, his voice rough and quiet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is not important,” he answers, “Let’s go.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they head for the door at the end of the room, the mountain seems to shake and tremble. Bits of stone rain down for a moment and one of the children screams. Felassan shields them, throwing a barrier above their heads as the mountain quakes above and below their feet. There is a deafening roar from above.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What in the void was that?” Felassan asks, eyes meeting Pride’s in terror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride breathes out as the trembling subsides. Moving forward, he hurries them along. As they all startle forward, Pride answers, voice grim.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Falon’Din.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The door at the end is barred from the outside. Likely some type of safety measure. Pride hits it with another volley of magic, fear making his magic too strong. The door bursts open, slamming against the side of the tunnel. They pause a moment, waiting and straining to listen but no sound comes from the darkness in front of them. Felassan moves forward, keeping the children close and using his staff as a torch to light the way. There are crates lined along the way, some filled with food and others with potions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a soft scraping noise, far away, toward the tunnel Felassan and Pride have just come from. Felassan and the children are ahead of him but he turns to listen, moving back toward the dungeon room they just exited. The noise continues, growing in sound, and then footsteps and moaning. Pride looks toward the darkened doorway as a keening screeching noise echoes toward the room. A smell wafts out, a sickly decaying rot scent that curdles the smell of stone and dust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No...surely not. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pride backs away, back toward the doorway in horror as more noise filters out. Scrape, thump, shuffle, screech. The sound grows closer, the smell filling the air. He backs up further, back into the tunnel and glances behind him to see how far Felassan and the children are. They’ve paused, looking toward him. He can see Felassan’s violet eyes, widening as the sound grows in strength. Pride turns away from the doorway, heart pounding in his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Run!” He shouts, and then sprints toward them. The children wail in fear as the loud thump screech begins to spill in behind them. Felassan leans down to snatch the little girl up as Pride swoops up the other one. The child is light in his arms. Felassan shoots the light out of his staff to move ahead of them and then they fade step down the tunnel, dodging stacked crates and pots filled with things Pride knows not what. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The mountain seems to shake again. Or the tunnels they’re in do and Pride stumbles, catching himself against the wall. He pants, the child clinging to him in desperation and fear. His brow is wet from sweat, and he turns around as a loud wail vibrates off the walls and down toward them. He can’t see much through the dark but a large outline seems to block out the end of the tunnel they just escaped from. There is a moment where time seems to stand still and then Pride is sending a shield barrier that lights the tunnel up behind them. He catches a hulking shadow and then flames are shooting toward them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns and leaps forward, fade stepping as quickly as he can. He catches up with Felassan and the other child, and they run as fast as their legs can carry them, taking a left and then a sharp right. The tunnels shake, sending dust and stone down around them and there does not seem to be any light save Felassan’s orb the speeds in front of them. It sounds like an army of undead follow behind them as they race for the end of the tunnel. The land seems to slant upward, and the darkness begins to gradually lighten as they run ever forward in terror. The smell is so putrid, his stomach churns with every panting breath. Another shield barrier is met with roaring flames. He doesn’t know if the beast is dead now and following on orders of Falon’din or alive and following due to Felassan’s enchantment charm but he suspects the former. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks of the dead bodies on the petitioner path. The room full of dead children. The screeching and the smell behind them. What is more unstoppable than an army of undead who feel no pain, no weakness, no exhaustion. His fury grows with every fearful cry from the children he and Felassan had managed to rescue. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>they survive this pursuit. The horde of undead behind them are not too far behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they begin to reach the top of the tunnel, an opening appears just ahead, just big enough to fit three people through. He can see the mountain slopes upward on either side and a path made of wood empties out into a valley filled with green. Grass fields and flowers, rocks and trees. Wide enough to fight without being boxed in. He will have Felassan take the children to safety and hold the beast and undead occupied. His steps speed up, pushing them onward. They break through the opening and stumble down the wooden path into the valley below. Pride sets the child down, pulling clinging hands away. Wide eyes meet his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Follow Felassan! Run as fast as you can. Do not stop, do not turn around! Go!” He urges the child forward and then whips back around. The opening isn't too wide. He should be able to block it. Enough to slow them down. Yanking raw magic in the air to him, he directs the nearby stone to detach and stack in front of the opening. Next he pulls the wood from the planks of the path to cover over the rocks. The wood creaks and shutters, smacking together. He shoves a protective barrier around the blockage for added measure. It will not hold. He knows it won’t but it gives him time to use the magic around him to form a shield and a spirit sword. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Readying himself, he waits. There is a rumble under his feet and then flames that lick through some of the cracks of the blockage. Rocks and wood fall and shift but the barrier holds. Tightening his grip, he drops into a fighting stance, lifting his fade shield to protect himself. The ground shakes again, a roar fills the air but it comes from above him and he looks up sharply to see a massive dragon, red and gold in color and his heart lifts in his chest at the sight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hail Mythal!” He cries though she is too far to hear or see him. She swoops through the air in the direction of the temple and as she soars forward, the clouds part to reveal two more dragons. Elgar’nan and Dirthamen flank her.  Elgar’nan’s wings are made of flame and fire, and Dirthamen's shadows and smoke. It is a sight to behold, having not seen them in their dragon forms in almost 500 years. Not in battle, anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So Dirthamen has chosen his side. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It is interesting to note that Dirthamen chose to rally Justice and Vengeance to stop Falon’Din’s madness. Perhaps Pride truly had misjudged the God of Secrets all these years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So distracted is he, he almost misses the sound of creaking wood and rumbling stone. He glances away from Mythal, feeling invigorated and watches as the blockage pushes forward, once, twice, and then all at once like a tidal wave, the barrier breaks and flame, stone and wood come shooting forward. He sends a gust of wind, sending the debris to the sides and digs in his heels as one of the beasts comes barreling forward, both eyes missing and half its face torn off to show muscle and sinew hanging from its jaws. It’s teeth are sharp, flames licking from its torn jaw and it’s eyes blaze purple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It lifts itself on two feet, raging and snorting flame as it locks its eyes on him. Moving behind it is a group of undead children, eyes glowing the same malevolent purple as the beast, throats slit, skin pale and grey. His heart lurches to see them but their souls are gone and in their place are true spirits of pestilence and maliciousness. Rage and horror and despair. The dead lurch forward, swords almost too big for them to carry drag lines in the ground, stumbling and screeching as the beast drops to all fours and lunges toward him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride gathers the moisture in the air, thinking of snow and cold. The ground shutters, shifting and vibrating as he throws out a hand and the temperature plummets. He uses the wind and stinging cold to blind the beast and undead as he dashes to the left and moves forward into the heart of the chaos. He swings his blade and catches something, a neck or arm or something and then he’s back out, pulling his shield up again. The beast comes roaring out, swiping its claws and Pride barely dodges. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stumbles backwards, blasting a mind pulse of raw magic outward that sends the undead backward but the beast isn’t deterred. It swipes again and catches Pride, sending him flying sideways. Pain springs at his side and he spares a moment to send a tendril of healing magic toward the pain but he is distracted by a blast of heat. He anchors himself behind his shield, favoring his side as flames smash against the fade shield. He still has magic so either the beast’s poison does not affect him or it is no longer effective after death. Whatever the case, he’s grateful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A fireball hits the shield with enough force to slam him backwards and he rolls and pushes up off the ground swiftly. His shield dissipates as he loses focus. Turning toward where he last saw the beast, there are only five dead children left, the others trampled or burnt by the beast in its anger and rage. The beast is gone, the storm Pride has created has faded. The dead rock on their heels before lurching forward again. Pride backs up and feels a presence behind him. He jumps to the side, spinning to look in midair as the beast appears again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had forgotten the beast could fade walk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was too close</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He thinks as he lands lightly and summons the fade shield again and lifts his spirit blade. He assesses his battle field, taking in the dead children that are little more than distraction and the beast which he feels is much more of a threat. His Wolf is howling inside his head, snarling and wanting to be freed but Pride does not think his Wolf form is the best defense against this opponent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a breath, rallying his strength and ignoring the pain in his side before rushing forward, straight at the beast. The beast roars and dashes forward to meet him. They clash together, Pride ramming his spirit blade into its chest, hitting its heart, before using his momentum to fade step </span>
  <em>
    <span>through </span>
  </em>
  <span>the beast right into the waiting dead children. He shoved so hard, his spirit blade slams into the closest child, dead eyes staring at him before its gaze flickers and a breath leaves its slit throat and the child crumples to the ground. There is a loud thump behind him as the beast topples over. His stomach flips, he closes his eyes in guilt but pain explodes from his shoulder and he opens his eyes wide as he shouts before dropping to the ground. His spirit blade disappears from his hand. He looks up, dazed, and meets the gaze of another dead child holding a now bloody ax. Pride tries to move the arm but is met with intense pain, burning and raw. He sluggishly tries to crawl backward using only his right arm and legs as the child lifts the ax again, stumbling forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sends another mind blast and the remaining two children go flying backwards away from him. Using the moment to glance down, he sees his injured arm covered in blood and a chunk of his upper forearm completely missing. He can see all the way to the bone. Heart pounding, grateful to know it isn’t gone, he gathers what little magic his tired body still has spindled in his mind to pump healing magic toward his arm. It is slow going and fear has him scooting back on instinct to put distance between himself and his enemies. He moves his gaze away from the children as they totter back to their legs toward where the beast’s body lays slumped on the ground. As he tries to gather his feet under him, the beast moans and Pride freezes, watching in horror as the beast raises to all fours again, shaking his head and then turning toward him, roaring and breathing flame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Death stares back at Pride from beyond it’s beastly form and Pride snarls in false bravado as he stumbles back to his feet. The children screech, and Pride looks down at his arm briefly to see it still bleeding but he can no longer see the bone as new muscle and tissue creep over the gouge. His arm is still useless and his endurance is running low. He pats his side, backing slowly away as he tries to find his staff but it’s gone from his side. Likely lost in the scuffle. The children screech again and begin walking toward him and the beast lifts itself back on two legs, sucking in its breath to shoot another fireball at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride cracks his knuckles and grins. The sky is filled with the sound of dragon’s clashing, the noise shattering through the valley like thunder and he wants to look, wants to know how Mythal is doing against Falon’Din but he must focus on his pending death. He digs in his heels as fire builds and the children grow closer. He savors the magic as it builds inside him, wanting to be unleashed. Just as the beast opens its slathering jaws to shoot its flame, he catches a glint of metal at the back of its throat. The beast gurgles, teetering sideways before blood sprouts from its mouth and it falls forward. Pride watches in fascination, as Felassan leaps from the beasts body to land next to him. He is covered in blood and when Pride meets his violet gaze, he grins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They always forget about the slow arrow,” Felassan says, flicking what Pride suspects is a borrowed dagger at one of the dead children. It lands with a thunk straight into the child’s eye and the child falls backwards. The last one continues forward as if it hasn’t noticed and Pride huffs out a chuckle. Felassan pulls magic from the air and uses the broken stones to smash into the last child and pins it down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll come back to lay them to rest later,” Felassan says, turning to Pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The other children?” Pride asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Safe. With Wisdom and Rena. Lavellan found Wisdom before getting Dirthamen and left Rena with it. The boy, the one we rescued?” Felassan informs, and a genuine smile replaces the weariness for a moment, “That was Farrow. If nothing else went right during this, at least we were able to reunite </span>
  <em>
    <span>them.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride lets out a breath of relief, raising his arm to lay on his friend's shoulder but then hisses when he remembers his arm is still injured. Felassan catches the noise, looking toward his arm with a frown. “Did you forget how to fight?” Felassan asks, “You’re supposed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shield </span>
  </em>
  <span>yourself, you know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride huffs out a laugh and holds in a gasp that tries to escape when Felassan sends a cooling rush of healing magic over his arm. The rest of the skin stitches back together and Pride sighs. The two are quiet a moment before a booming crash shakes the ground and rattles the mountain. A roar and then silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mythal!” Pride calls, turning to Felassan before looking up but he sees none of the Evanuris in the sky and only smoke in the air from the direction of the temple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Looks like the fight is over. We better hurry, I don’t want to miss Mythal putting Falon’Din in his place.” Felassan sounds confident in Mythal’s victory and Pride supposes the likelihood is high. Falon’Din is not nearly as strong as the All-Mother and he was fighting against her </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Elgar’nan and Dirthamen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two leave the valley and head toward the temple quickly. Pride shifts mid step into his Wolf form for added speed and lets out a howl that he hopes Mythal can hear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tell the dead to fear </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They arrive at the temple grounds to see nothing but scorched earth, rubble, and bodies. The body of the other beast is covered in arrows, laying slumped over a mound of dead soldiers and forgotten warriors. The temple is destroyed. Blood splatters over the ground, pooling in the cracks of the stone. Crates are spilled over or shattered, strewn over the toppled pillars and the obelisk lays in three pieces, no longer glowing or pulsing with magic. Active flames still send plums of smoke into the air. Pride has already shifted back into his elf form, the smell too much for his Wolf. He covers his mouth as he and Felassan make their way around the wreckage and up toward the raised balcony and cracked stairs where he suspects the Evanuris are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can hear Elgar’nan’s raging voice and a jet of flames peak over the smoke. Pride and Felassan pick up their pace, and Pride sends out a gust of wind to blow the smoke away from them, careful not to stoke the flames into an inferno. Once the smoke clears away from their path, Pride spots Mythal’s blonde hair and red and gold dragon scale armor she wears to battle. She looks unharmed save a few spots of dark red in her hair from wounds that she likely already healed or the blood does not belong to her at all. The sight of her eases his tense shoulders. As they crest over the stairs, Dirthamen and Mythal look their way. Laying in front of Dirthamen is Falon’Din, bleeding profusely from several wicked looking claw marks from Myhal’s sharp talons. Black shadow ropes are wrapped around him, likely Dirthamen’s doing, though Falon’Din appears to be unconscious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pride,” Mythal calls out to him, and he immediately drops to his knee in a respectful bow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elgar’nan’s raging trails off as if he just now notices that he and Felassan, who drops down beside him to kneel as well, have arrived. Pride spots Lavellan in the back, toward the opening of the temple’s inner sanctuary, leaning against the broken door while twirling her dagger. Pride looks away when she smirks at him, but his heart gives an unexpected thump in his chest at the sight of her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m pleased to see you still live, Dread Wolf,” Dirthamen says, his voice grim and dark and Pride nods at Dirthamen in an acknowledgment before looking toward Mythal. Elgar’nan scoffs, blowing out an angry retort that Pride ignores. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did well, Pride. And you too, Felassan,” Mythal says, waving her hand for them to rise,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come. We were just deciding the fate of my fellow Evanuris. It appears Falon’Din has conspired with a Forbidden one to amass enough worshippers to start a war with the rest of us. How very….predictable. Interesting strategy but poorly executed.” Mythal tuts, shaking her head while she looks down at Falon’Din. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one has bothered to heal him and Pride’s Wolf bucks against his mind, howling for him to slay him and eat his heart but Pride pushes the urge down in favor of getting answers to his curiosity. “A forbidden one?” He asks, surprised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. In the form of a slave of Dirthamen’s. A Sa’lan, was it?” Mythal asks, turning toward Lavellan who’s been watching in silence. Lavellan nods but doesn’t move from her post. Watching with curious eyes as she spins her dagger in nonchalance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, but which one?” Felassan asks, speaking for the first time since they arrived at the temple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elgar’nan snarls. “Imshael!” Elgar’nan spits out. His voice is loud and echoes off the crumbling temple walls. Falon’Din doesn’t stir at the noise and Pride wonders if the shadow ropes are doing more than just binding him. Blood is smeared across the dark haired elf and his face is as pale as the dead children Pride fought. A wave of rage pools inside him and he looks away with a snarl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Conspire is a heavy word. Coerced by Imshael into falling into his own vanity and greed is more likely,” Dirthamen speaks up, and Pride cocks a brow but says nothing as Elgar’nan roars his disagreement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mythal laughs, breaking the tension and shockingly, it sounds like she may agree with Dirthamen’s assessment. Pride has to actually bite his tongue to keep from openly disagreeing. It is not for him to decide things. He only lives to serve Mythal and his lady has shown to have knowledge that he did not. Perhaps Dirthamen speaks true though Pride is loath to agree. Coerced or not, what Falon’Din has done is unforgivable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And how did we come by this information? I caught not a whiff of Imshael when I last saw Sa’lan,” Pride says instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Banal’ras has agreed to confess everything under the agreement that I show him favor at his trial. He is set to be judged this afternoon. He doesn’t know yet that I know he has committed more than just this crime. I could forgive him this sin under the pretense that it was caused by his loyalty to the Evanuris. He had acted under Falon’din’s orders after all,” Mythal explains and Pride raises his brow but before he can say anything, Mythal continues, “But Dirthamen has informed me that he has also attempted to take the shape of a dragon, which is forbidden. I will not show him favor. Elgar’nan will have his vengeance.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride nods, curious about what all he missed during the five months Lavellan and Dirthamen had been gone with Ghilan’nain. “Do we know where Imshael is now?” Felassan asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan laughs, “No,” she says from her spot, “But I intend to find him. With permission of course,” she says, nodding her head at Mythal and the other gathered Evanuris, shooting a glance at her own with anticipation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dirthamen smiles. “I hope you are successful in your hunt, champion. You have proven yourself quite worthy,” Dirthamen praises, and Pride glances at her before looking back down at Falon’Din.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The unconscious God of death does not stir and Pride shifts his feet and crosses his arm. “So what is your plan for Falon’Din? There are dead slave children in his temple and outside of it. Down in the valley. His high priest is dead. I killed him but the priest had slain most of the children before I found him. I know not what Falon’Din’s true plan for the children were but I have suspicions.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As do we, but Falon'Din still has his own lands and court and it is not our place to tell him how to deal with his slaves,” Elgar’nan says. His voice is much more mellow now that the battle is done and Pride can taste blood in his mouth as he bites his tongue hard to keep from raging and getting himself slain along with the rest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mythal’s voice drifts into his thoughts, a memory of what she told him before he left for Dirthamen’s court all those months ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You do not win a war by fighting to death in every battle. Pick the fights you can win, remember your goals and do nothing that does not further them. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stays his tongue and looks to Mythal. She looks angry but nods. “Falon’Din will be sentenced to ten years in uthenera, trapped inside one of June’s fade prisons. Without Imshael, we have only hearsay on what truly transpired here. Only suspicion. Dirthamen will have to run both courts and lands until Falon’Din is returned. You will finish off your debt and then return to my court. This is no longer my concern.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride breaths out, anger churning in his gut but he bows his head in acceptance. “What of the displaced slaves of the fallen Houses? And the traitors and forgotten clans?” Felassan asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Forgotten clans have retreated for now. And with them, the treasonous lords and ladies have disappeared. I will send Andruil to hunt them down. My daughter is rather fond of the idea of mounting Anaris’ head on the wall to go with the rest of her hunting trophies,” Mythal answers, “As for the slaves, they will be interrogated by Dirthamen and should they prove innocent, the will be reassigned amongst the other nobles in Falon’din’s court.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan sighs, his hands balling into fists and his jaw clenching but he gives a short nod and bow in understanding. Lavellan, who’s been incredibly silent since asking permission to hunt Imshael steps forward and bows to Mythal and Dirthamen in respect before speaking, “I have a request, Dirthamen. If you’ll allow it? One of the slaves, Rena, was amongst those displaced from House Maheriel. She was very helpful in our quest to uncover Falon’din’s intrigue. Her only motivation being that her son had been kidnapped. She has no ties to anything else. As a boon, I ask that perhaps she and her son be allowed their current freedom?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline at Lavellan’s request. He is both shocked by her audacity and impressed with her suggestion. Pride looks to Dirthamen but Elgar’nan erupts before Dirthamen can answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Allow a slave to go free? If we give this Rena her and her son’s freedom, the rest of them may as well be set free as well!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mythal tuts, stepping forward, ever the voice of a reason. “I have a suggestion,” Mythal says, voice calm as she carefully places herself between Lavellan and Elgar’nan to distract her husband. “I ask you to place this slave and her son in my care. As a reward for her help with this matter. I will find a place for them in my own court.” Her eyes are on Dirthamen and after a moment Dirthamen nods his acceptance. Elgar’nan scoffs but doesn’t argue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good. Then it is settled. Now, let us set to right this mess and return to Arlathan. We will deal with this Banal’ras and place Falon’Din in June’s prison. Felassan, you are to take the slaves to House Lavellan in the city for now until Dirthamen returns,” Mythal orders, glancing to Lavellan and continuing once Lavallen nods, “You can return to my lands with Rena and her son and await for my return once I am done. Pride,” she says, turning to look at him and smiles, “You have done well in your time here. You still have a few weeks yet, however. A bargain is a bargain. Accompany Felassan and Lavellan to deliver the slaves and finish your time at Dirthamen’s court. I will see you soon enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, the group breaks apart. Elgar’nan leaps from the stairs, disappearing into a shadowed black flame into the sky before transforming into his dragon form once he’s high enough. Flapping his hulking wings, sending flames that scorch more of the temple and set the surrounding trees on fire, he soars away. Mythal sighs, looking annoyed, before her eyes glow blue and she lifts her arms toward the sky. There is a crack of lightning from far above them and grey clouds begin to form. A rumbling sound rolls over them, thunder booming from the sky and then a torrent of rain comes pouring down in thick sheets around them. A barrier hangs just over their heads. Dirthamen’s doing, Pride suspects. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All around them, the fires begin to lose momentum and steam and smoke billows into the air in thick choking clouds. Pride coughs, sending a gust of wind out to send the smoke away from where they all stand. Felassan does the same. Once the worst of the fires smolder out, Mythal turns to Dirthamen and nods toward Falon’Din as if to say “Your husband, your responsibility.” Dirthamen raises Falon’din’s body and levitates him using his shadow ropes. Blood drips down from his wounds but they ignore it and begin their descent down the steps. Pride falls behind, walking beside Lavellan and chewing the inside of his lip in thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When we return to Arlathan, I will begin my hunt for Imshael. Will you do me a favor, Wolf?” Lavellan asks, her voice quiet as she steps over bodies and broken stone. Pride hopes Dirthamen will consider sending people to identify the dead children and give them a proper burial in the grove. If not, perhaps Dirthamen will allow him to do so in his stead. It was his failure after all. He did not find them in time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?” He asks, his thoughts too consumed with his guilt to put up his usual guards against her. He is glad she seems too serious to notice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do not wish to see my parents. I will accompany you to the House we have in the city but no further. Will you tell my mother to write to Deshana about what has happened and where I’ve gone?” She asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pride turns his head to look at her but she is looking away. She has her hand on the hilt of her dagger, her other one missing, still buried in the dead child’s eye after Felassan borrowed it. Pride swallows and looks away. “Yes,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She thanks him and the two of them fall silent once more. Both buried in their own thoughts. Felassan is ahead of them, speaking quietly with Mythal. Dirthamen has already disappeared, a black dragon streaking across the sky above them, headed toward the glinting floating city far off. He can just make out the speck of Elgar’nan landing on one of the crystal spires but he blinks and the image is gone. Elgar’nan returned to his own elven form. He supposes Dirthamen must have Falon’din’s unconscious form on his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group comes to a stop at the end of the temple grounds and Mythal laughs before disappearing in a puff of blue shadows. Her laugh lingers in the air, drifting through the strong breeze. The rain is still pouring and now that Dirthamen and Mythal are gone, the sky becomes dark and cold. The rain pelts him, pasting his wild hair and dirty singed and slashed robes to his skin. Lavellan tucks her hair behind her ears and turns to the two of them. “Rena, Wisdom and the rest are waiting at the grove. We will have to travel by foot. The eluvians at the Houses were destroyed during the ensuing chaos.” She says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felassan sighs, swiping at the rain dripping from his nose. “Fair enough but I’m not doing it soaking wet,” he says. Pride hums in agreement and Lavellan laughs. She sends a barrier above them and Pride sends out magic to dry them. Once they are more comfortable, they wait as the rain begins to subside and once it’s done, they begin their trek through Falon’din’s lands toward the grove. Pride and Felassan stop by the place they stashed their packs, and as Felassan and Lavellan discuss their course, Pride stands at the ridge and looks over the destroyed temple and dead bodies and wishes that Falon’Din was dead. He hopes Lavellan is successful in her hunt for the Forbidden one Imshael so that he may confirm Pride’s suspicion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Falon’Din is nothing more than a weak God and the blood of countless innocents he has spilled in his vanity and greed could fill lakes as wide as oceans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someday, I hope this world eats the hearts of greedy, would-be gods and the People stand tall once more. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hopes that perhaps Mythal’s aspirations to bring her court of dreams to the rest of the lands is successful. Looking around and seeing nothing but blood and death makes him fear what else may come of this. Mythal has hopes to unite the rest of the Evanuris the way they once used to be. Before power had corrupted them. When the People had loved and respected their leaders so fiercely that they birthed the spirit of Pride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does not think she will succeed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>……….</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the remaining weeks of Pride’s time in the court of whispers, Pride seldomly sees Dirthamen or Lavellan. The former is busy with running two courts, though he had been kind enough to allow Pride to bring the children's bodies to the grove so they are able to be buried properly and their parents, those of them still living, are given time to mourn before being reassigned to other noble Houses under Falon’din’s lands. There were children whose parents had belonged to different lands, and he was quite busy these past weeks tracking down slaves to inform them of their children’s death. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lavellan occasionally returns to court to keep up reports with Dirthamen about her progress with finding Imshael but the more time stretches on, the more likely he has fled back to the far reaches of the fade. A place few dare to tread. Pride eventually accepts that Falon’Din will be given nothing more than a slap to the wrist for his crimes. He keeps his mouth shut and boils in his anger as he waits impatiently for his remaining time here to come to an end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Using his occasional spare time allows him to think on his own bargain with Lavellan. He thinks over some of the magic he’s learned since he’s come to the court of whispers. Particularly the invocation magic he encountered in Dirthamen’s study. Consulting with Wisdom in the Vir Dirthara as well as a discussion with Learning and Knowledge helps him create an anchor of sorts in the form of a talisman. It is a simple one. A string of leather and a wolf jaw bone that activates only when Lavellan invokes it while wearing it when she goes to sleep. He makes another one to connect to himself and weaves the magic into the necklace. He slips one of them over his head and tucks it into his robe. The other he carries around in his pocket should he see her. He decides to allow Lavellan in charge of coming up with her own invocation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The days crawl by, and at long last his last day finally arrives. He wakes that morning and packs his things. He sends them ahead of his arrival and goes to eat his last morning meal in the courtyard, having grown to enjoy the sun and heat of Dirthamen’s palace. Dirthamen has already relieved him of his bargain. He is welcome to stay the rest of the day at court but Pride plans to leave once he finishes his meal. He misses his own court. He misses the excited chatter of servants who don’t look terrified every time he walks down the halls. He misses Mythal and he misses when he did not have to bite his tongue so often.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once finishing his meal, he stands and brushes the crumbs from his hands and face and stands. He looks around him, slaves going about their daily lives and he wonders how much would change over the next ten years. If anything changes at all. He doesn’t know. He thinks of Lavellan and wishes he could see her one last time before he leaves but she is not here. He pats at his chest, feeling the outline of the talisman underneath his robes. It’s twin he left in Lavellan’s room, after disabling her wards with a note that tells her how to activate it. He hopes she uses it. Perhaps they could search for Imshael together or at the very least he can teach her how to get better answers from spirits he suspects know more than they say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns and begins to head to the large Eluvian that will take him to the crossroads and back to Mythal’s lands. As he walks, his arms drift back to their customary position behind his back. It gives him comfort though his shoulders are tense and his heart is full of regret. He had failed Mythal and the People had suffered for his failures. It weighs his steps as he treads ever forward. Dirthamen’s palace a lurking shadow behind him. As he reaches the Eluvian, he feels a tug on one of his braids and spins around to find Lavellan smirking at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grins. “So, you returned just in time to see me off,” he says. His eyes trace the length of her. Her hair is curled and pinned away from her face, though a few ringlets escape and frame around her sharp jaw. Her dress is a royal blue, a color he thinks she favors. It matches the color of her Vallaslin. Does she wear it to honor her loyalty to Dirthamen or has she always liked this color? He has too many questions still left to ask, and as his gaze sweeps back up to her face, he is filled with a different type of regret. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are slanted in amusement and a little sad and his heart speeds up as he wonders if perhaps she will miss him too. He thinks of Deceit, telling him that the best lies are the ones people tell themselves and he lets out a chuckle. He comes to accept that despite his best efforts, he has found he did in fact become distracted with her swaying hips. Or rather the way in which she swaggers, both deadly and alluring. He hopes he matches the stories in which she was so interested in learning. He wonders if perhaps a cat </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>best a wolf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders a great many things but he says none of them out loud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So I have. Your gift was lovely, though a bit lacking in imagination,” she says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs. “Perhaps,” he agrees. He pulls at the string around his neck, bringing the talisman out to show her. “Wear it when you wish to meet in the fade. The necklace is linked with mine. Speak the invocation before you go to sleep and I will find you. The words are entirely up to you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She grins and moves closer. She raises her hand and grips the necklace to look it over before tugging at it. He bends down and their faces are close enough that should he speak, their lips may touch. His blood races and he sucks in a breath. Her eyes lower to his lips, and his breath shutters out, heart pounding in his chest so loud he thinks she may hear it. She smells divine and his eyes half close. He wants to lean in. Press his lips to hers. Take her in his arms and devour her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t. He stays still and her eyes flick to his. Violet meets blue in a silent dare and a world seems to open up between them. Many unspoken words pass between them and his emotions bubble up inside but he does not release them. She grins, enjoying his discomfort before letting go and rocking back on her heels. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“May the Dread Wolf catch my scent,” she whispers. Light cascades over his talisman, sealing the invocation. He catches her eyes once more before she turns with a laugh and slowly  walks away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her laugh follows him all the way through the Eluvian, dogging his thoughts as he makes his way back home. His talisman feels warm against his heart and he grins. He would find her. In a dream. In the waking world. In the far reaches of the beyond and through the void itself. Her scent lingers on him and he knows he’ll always be able to find it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>END ACT 1 OF DIRTHARA MA ATHIM</b>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Holy cow - the first part is finished. This story didn’t get much traffic but I still plan on working on part 2. This is helping the wait for the fourth game so even if no one is really reading this - at least it gives me something to do. It’s also a big thing for me. This is the first story in a very long time that had multiple chapters and I wrote it from start to finish. I’m feeling pretty accomplished. Thanks for reading! Keep an eye out for part 2!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is cover art for this story. Find me on Tumblr, Username For-the-grey-wardens.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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